


Ready to Comply

by exclamation



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, But Mostly Hurt, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Dehumanization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier POV, considerations of the ethical ramifications of fruit pots, the asset watches porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 66,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exclamation/pseuds/exclamation
Summary: The asset's orders at the end of The Winter Soldier weren't to kill Captain America, but to capture him, so that he could be wiped and turned into another asset. The asset has succeeded in that mission, capturing its target and taking him back to the Hydra base. But the Hydra soldiers are dead, captured, or fled, so there is no one there to give the asset new orders.Alone with its captive, the asset has no instructions on how it is meant to act. But the more time it spends with its target, the more old protocols start to assert themselves, like the protocol that when that face is hurt and bleeding, the asset is supposed to clean away the blood.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have one half-written epic that I need to finish, but I was hit by the idea for this one and it wouldn't let me go. I haven't abandoned The Third Way, but in the mean time have some Bucky angst. 
> 
> This story is told from Bucky's POV but he has been trained not to think of himself as a person, so he will be referring to himself as "it" through this story. 
> 
> This story is based on the speculation that the reason Bucky was so obvious at the final showdown, instead of waiting in the shadows somewhere to shoot Steve from behind, is because he was ordered to capture Captain America so that he could be brainwashed by Hydra too. The reason Steve survived the final confrontation was because he was supposed to survive it. Here's the AU of what might have happened if Bucky hadn't been snapped out of his brainwashing at the end.

The asset had to complete its mission. Despite the confusion, despite the name the target had repeated, despite a hesitation it had never experienced before, the mission was what mattered. The asset would complete its mission because the mission was everything. The asset could no more choose to disobey its orders than it could choose to stop breathing. 

There had been a moment when the asset had considered disobeying, considered killing the target to quiet the voice that said such confusing things. Even more alarmingly, it had considered stopping, letting the target escape. 

There was a malfunction. The asset would be wiped and the malfunction would be gone. The target would be dealt with. Then this would be over. 

The asset wanted it to be over. For the first time, the asset wanted something other than the comfort of obedience. It wanted the confusion to stop. 

So it pulled the target out of water when the airship burned above them. The target was still breathing. The mission was still salvageable. The asset hauled the target up over his shoulders and started walking. 

There was chaos all around, people running and screaming, fighting and fires, rubble falling from the sky. No one noticed the asset steal a car and place the target in the trunk. No one tracked its progress through the streets. 

The asset changed cars twice, each time checking that the target hadn't regained consciousness. He was still breathing, blood still flowing from the injuries sustained in the fight. He didn't seem to be waking up and the asset felt something it didn't know how to feel. Concern? 

It was concerned the target might die and the mission might fail. That was all. 

It pushed the concern aside and made it to the safehouse, hidden beneath a former bank, carrying the target down the steps and through the door into what had once been a safe. The bars and secure doors that had once sealed away money now served to seal away the equipment that kept the asset free of malfunctions. Inside this former bank vault was the chair, ready for the target, to change the target into a new asset. 

The asset placed the target in the chair and began systematically fastening the straps to secure the target in place, metal cuffs locking around limbs and torsos. The target required stronger restraints than the asset did. This chair had been reinforced especially for this mission. The target would not be able to escape while the scientists worked. As he closed the last restraint, locking the target's legs below the knees, the asset felt again the doubt he'd felt during the fight, the feeling that he should just let the target go, but it pushed the thought aside. 

The mission was to bring the target here. The mission was complete. 

The asset stood back and waited for orders, ready to comply. 

No orders came. No people came. No scientists to begin the process, no handlers to take the asset back to its own chair and repair the broken thoughts in its head. No soldiers. No orders. 

The asset wanted orders. Orders clarified things. Orders made the confusion stop. 

The asset waited. 

The soldiers would come. There would be orders again. It could be patient. The asset had no wants or needs except what it was told. It would wait for orders. 

***

The target shifted slightly, face changing into a grimace of pain beneath the layer of blood and grime. He tried to move and found himself trapped by the restraints the asset had locked into place. His eyes opened, wide and afraid, and found the asset standing by the wall, still waiting for orders, ready to comply. 

"Buck," the target said, voice hoarse and rough. A moment later the voice became a cough, the target's body jerking involuntarily against the the restraints. The target's face showed pain once again. 

"Bucky," the target said, when the coughing was done. "You know me. You don't have to do this." 

The asset had to do this. This was the mission. The asset had to complete the mission. That was the protocol. The asset followed orders and completed missions. There was nothing else. 

Except there were no more orders, no protocols. The mission was complete and it hadn't been given a new one. No one had told it what to do when there were no soldiers and no orders. It didn't have a protocol for this. 

"Please, Bucky, you have to remember. You are James Buchanan Barnes. You're my friend." 

The asset didn't have friends. The asset had protocols. It didn't have a protocol for this. It had been ordered to retrieve the target and prepare him for processing in the chair. It didn't have orders for what happened next. 

Except... something made its way through the asset's mind, another protocol. Protocols were different from orders, unspecific, general instructions for action that were not linked to a specific mission. The protocol gave the asset its instruction now. When that face was covered in blood and showing pain, there was a protocol for that, buried somewhere in the back of the asset's mind. 

It turned away from the target, walking towards the door. 

"Bucky!" the target called out after it. "Bucky, please." 

The asset could hear him shouting that name as it went to the small bathroom that had once serviced the bank employees and had since served the Hydra scientists stationed here. There was a plastic container which could be emptied out and filled with clean water. There was a washcloth. The asset took these items and returned to the target. 

The target seemed to sag in his restraints as he saw the asset return. 

The asset walked over to him. It dipped the washcloth in the water and started dabbing gently at the graze on the side of the target's face. It was one of many injuries, the cuts and bruises the asset had dealt in bringing about his capture. The asset had followed orders to bring the target in, but now the protocol was there and there were no orders to override it. So the asset cleaned away blood and dirt. 

"Buck," the target said again, this time a faint whisper full of some emotion the asset couldn't identify. It didn't need to identify emotions. It had the protocol and that was enough. The protocol was to clean the source of pain on the target's face. 

Once the face was clean, the asset moved on to the hands, locked as they were to the arms of the chair. It could still clean the scraped knuckles, wiping up the grazes and the dried blood that had probably come from the asset. This felt correct. The asset hadn't been ordered to clean the target, but some part of it felt like it was following a standard procedure that had been drilled into it, as important as protocols about aim or hand to hand or how to evade capture. 

"Do you remember me at all?" the target asked, as the asset moved from one hand to the other. 

"You're my mission," the asset said. That was what mattered. The mission. Orders. Protocol. Not some confusion that stirred every time this man spoke. 

"You used to do this for me," the target said. "Whenever I got in a fight with some guy twice my size, you would take me home and wipe away the blood, clean up all the cuts and bruises. Do you remember that?" 

"No," the asset said. It didn't remember. It was frequently wiped between missions. Some information it retained, some mission histories, but not all. It was possible that there had been some other mission, some mission where its orders had been to protect this man and keep him from injuries. Protection missions were unusual but sometimes the asset was ordered to defend instead of to kill. 

The asset went to throw away the dirty water and replaced it with clean. It returned to the chair and the target imprisoned within it. The man was straining against the metal, but the restraints wouldn't yield. The target would injure himself if he kept fighting against that. It seemed protocol to stop him injuring himself. He was already breathing hard, his face pained. The would be other injuries beneath the wet and blood soaked clothes, other injuries the asset had caused. Those needed to be cleaned as well. 

"Stop," the asset ordered. It pulled out a knife. 

The target's eyes went to the blade, widening with fear. It strained even harder against the restraints. 

"Bucky, please, don't." 

"Stop moving," the asset said again. It walked up to the chair, knife in hand, and the target froze. Everything except his eyes, which darted back and forth between the knife and the asset's eyes. The asset brought the knife to the front of the target's jacket and sliced through the cloth. 

It was difficult work to remove the clothing. The protective material of the uniform did not yield easily to the knife's blade. The metal bands around the target's limbs and torso were tight, pressing the fabric against his skin, but the asset was able to cut the material away in pieces and toss it aside, sometimes having to peel it away where it had become stuck with dried blood. 

The target's eyes seemed scared again as the asset revealed bare skin and more injuries. 

The target's shoulder had a deep cut in it from the asset's knife. The wound was narrow but the injury went deeply inside. The target would experience pain using his right arm until that healed but the asset didn't think there would be any long-term issues given the target's enhancements. Other injuries were more of a concern. There were gunshot wounds to the abdomen, gunshot wounds the asset had caused. The asset shouldn't have done that. The asset had been ordered to bring the target in alive and gunshot wounds to the stomach region were dangerous. There were too many vital organs. A nick to the wrong one could kill in seconds, or fill the bloodstream with bacteria to cause a slow death from infection. It was unpredictable and dangerous. 

It was not the correct action on the part of the asset. The asset needed to be wiped. It needed to be rid of the malfunction that had made him shoot the target to make him stop talking. 

The asset touched the skin of the target's stomach with his human hand. There was still blood and something dark oozing from the injuries. It did not know how to fix this. The asset was treated by doctors when it returned injured from missions. It didn't treat itself except for basic actions to preserve life for the duration of a mission if it were damaged in combat. It didn't have the protocol to fix this itself and the doctors that should have been here waiting for it weren't. 

It needed a new protocol. If it did nothing, the target might die, then it would have failed its mission. 

The asset straightened, standing back from the chair. Doubt was inefficient. Hesitancy was unacceptable. It's mission was to bring this man here alive so it needed to keep this man alive. A new protocol asserted itself. 

When that face was injured, the protocol was to wipe away the blood and dirt. When that man was hurt badly, the protocol was to bring a doctor. The asset needed to find a doctor to keep the target alive. That was the new mission. 

Having a mission was right. The asset moved with more determination, walking from the room, leaving the target restrained in the chair. The target would not be able to escape. The asset would complete its mission.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did consider having Bucky kidnap Doctor Strange or someone like that, but decided that would be a distraction from the main Stucky angst.

There were many doctors in Washington DC. The asset calculated options and possibilities. It needed to avoid detection, so it needed a doctor who would not be missed quickly, one with the skills necessary to treat the bullet wounds. The asset acquired civilian clothing from a small shop and stole some flowers from a small stand near the hospital. The owner of the stand was not present and many of the flower buckets had fallen over in the chaos from the fighting earlier. The owner must have fled, so no one would notice the theft. 

The asset walked into the hospital, holding the flowers carefully to hide part of its face from cameras without being obvious that was what it was doing. It walked with purpose and no one stopped it. The hospital was busy and it was easy to avoid being noticed while all professional people present had other tasks to occupy them, dealing with injuries from the fighting at the SHIELD headquarters, and the non-professionals were distracted by their own pain and concerns. The asset watched everything happening about it, alert for threats and cataloging the medical professionals. 

It moved through the hospital, identifying potential targets, weighing the choices. It formed a mental list of those with the necessary skills in trauma and surgery from watching who was chosen to tend to which injuries of those in the hospital. 

Its list created, the asset moved to the hospital parking lot, to the employees section, and found a discrete place to wait between a support column and a large van, positioning itself so that it had a good vantage point on the elevator doors. 

The asset waited. 

Few people were leaving the hospital. Probably all staff had been called in for the emergency and were working longer hours than usual to deal with everyone who had been hurt. The asset waited. The asset was used to waiting, but usually waiting meant that the mission had a greater chance of success because it would choose the best moment for an attack. Now, waiting felt like a liability because the target was hurt. Without a doctor, the target might die and then the asset would have failed its mission. Failure was unacceptable. 

At last, the elevator doors opened again and a man came out, dragging a hand across tired features. Despite that blocking hand, the asset identified him as one of the potential options selected earlier. The asset moved, slipping silently between parked cars. The tired doctor didn't even look round, didn't know the asset was there until a metal hand closed around his mouth, pulling him against the asset's chest, and a knife blade rested against his ribs as a clear threat. 

"I need a doctor," the asset said. "Stay quiet and cooperate and you will live. Do you understand?" 

The man frantically tried to nod into the asset's restraining hand. The asset steered him towards a car that the asset had identified earlier as having been left unlocked. It moved the hand with the knife away from the man long enough that he could open the trunk. Then he lifted the man up, dumping him down into the empty space. The action necessitated the removal of the mental hand from the man's mouth. 

"Please," the man said, a tremour in his voice, "I have a kid." 

A kid was irrelevant, at least to the asset, but clearly relevant to the doctor. Perhaps that could be used. 

"Then cooperate," the asset said, "so your kid doesn't lose their father." 

The asset had no intention of letting this man live once he had seen the base and the target; that would be too great a risk. If the man thought that the asset might let him live though, he was much more likely to cooperate and the asset needed that cooperation. 

The asset had brought a roll of duct tape from the base. It wasn't as strong as the restraints used to hold the target, but it would be enough on this man. The asset looped the tape around the man's ankles and then did the same to his wrists, tying his arms behind his back. Then it folded the man up and taped wrists and ankles together. The last of the tape, it used to seal the man's mouth. It was an ineffective gag but it would be sufficient for its purposes. 

The doctor secured, the asset walked around to the driver's seat of the car and pulled a panel off beneath the steering column so that it could reach the wiring and start the engine. It drove carefully away from the employee parking lot, sticking to the road rules so that it didn't attract unwanted attention. 

It needed to get back to the target quickly, but the need for security was still there as an underlying protocol, so the asset chose a route which doubled back on itself in places, with more turns than necessary, so as to confused the trapped doctor about the distance and direction that they took, as well as to lose any potential pursuit. The asset checked the mirrors but saw no sign of a tailing vehicle. It kept its journey shorter than it might otherwise have done, since what the doctor could work out about the base's location was minimally important. His chance of escape was slim and the asset would kill him once he had served his purpose. 

The asset parked the car in a covered spot behind the base where it would not be noticed for some time. It would have to move the car soon, but that could be done when the doctor had treated the target. The asset could move the car at the same time it dumped the doctor's body. 

The asset lifted the doctor out and carried him into the base, down the stairs to the repurposed vault. The target was still there, trapped and almost naked in the chair as the asset had left him, but his eyes were closed now. The restraints were clearly the only thing holding him upright. For a moment, the asset felt a trace of alarm that it might have taken too long and already failed his mission, but there was heat in the body, too much heat. The target's cheeks were flushed red and the stomach wounds were still bleeding. 

The asset put the doctor on the floor and cut away the tape. The doctor was staring at the target, surprise replacing fear on his face. 

"Holy crap," he said, when the asset stripped the tape from his mouth. "Is that Captain America?" 

"Fix him," the asset ordered. 

"I can't," said the doctor. 

The asset raised the knife because if the doctor would not cooperate there was no value in leaving him alive. The doctor held his hands up quickly, backing up a step. 

"I mean, I'd need equipment, medication. He needs antibiotics and anaesthetic. I'd need a surgery. He should be in hospital. Call a hospital, call the government, he would get the best treatment." 

The asset considered this information. It could keep the target alive by informing what was left of SHIELD, or by taking the target to a hospital, but then the asset would lose control of him. The mission was to capture alive. Taking him to a hospital would only leave half the mission objections complete. 

Besides, the base was equipped. The asset had often been damaged on missions and doctors had worked to repair it before it was put in storage again for its next mission. There would be items here this doctor could use. 

The asset put its metal hand on the doctor's shoulder and steered him into the next room, where a metal table was equipped with restraints similar to those on the chair, and the cupboards were full of medical supplies. The asset took the doctor to these cupboards and opened the nearest, revealing the bottles and plastic drip bags, carefully labelled with their contents, the sterilised surgical equipment sealed in their plastic wrappers, the rolls of bandages and more equipment that the asset wasn't qualified to understand. The doctor stared at the supplies, wide-eyed but not with fear this time. 

"Can you fix him?" the asset asked. 

"I can try," the doctor said. "I'd usually have a surgical team for this sort of work. Could you... is there anyone who would be able to assist?" 

"I will assist," the asset said. "Prepare what you need." 

It left the doctor in that room, knowing that he couldn't make a run for the exit without passing the asset. He was unlikely to try fight with the surgical equipment and the asset was confident of being able to overpower him if he tried. The asset returned to the chair. 

It had completed its mission when it had secured the target in this chair. It hadn't been given orders to remove the target from the chair, but the doctor would be unable to perform surgery with the target in this position. For this new mission, it was necessary to move the target. This was not disobeying orders because no one had ordered the asset to keep the target in the chair. Acting without orders was not desired but this was a requirement to achieve the new objective of keeping the target alive. 

The asset unfastened the restraints methodically, alert for any sign that the target was faking unconsciousness, prepared for an attack. No attack came, so the asset continued working to free the target, holding the target with one hand when he slumped forward. Once all the restraints were removed, the asset lifted the target from the chair and carried him through to the other room, laying him out on the metal table and beginning to fasten the new set of restraints in case the target woke up when on the table. 

"Are those restraints really necessary?" the doctor asked. 

"Yes," the asset answered. The doctor didn't argue. He continued gathering supplies and attached a drip bag to a frame, connecting it via a needle into the target's arm. The asset did not ask what the liquid was. The doctor knew he would die if he let the target die, so the asset would let the doctor make the necessary decisions to achieve the required objective. 

"Do you know what blood type he is?" the doctor asked. 

"A positive," the asset answered. It did not know where it had learned this fact. It was not necessary to know where it had learned this fact. It knew the fact and that was what mattered. The doctor accepted the answer and retrieved a transfusion packet from a fridge, carefully checking the label before attaching it to the target. 

"You need to scrub up," the doctor said, indicating a sink and a set of doctor's scrubs. "This isn't a proper operating theatre but we have to minimise the risk of infection." 

The asset obeyed. There was reassurance in having orders. This doctor was not the asset's handler but the doctor knew what was necessary here and could give the orders. The asset would comply as long as it did not appear that the doctor intended to kill the target. The asset stayed silent, following the instructions given, each one said with more confidence than the one before, as the doctor began the work of removing bullets from the target's stomach and stitching up injuries. The asset held what it was told to hold, directed the light where it was instructed to direct it, suctioned blood away from the area so that the doctor could see to work. It followed orders as it was trained to do while the doctor did what he was trained to do. 

After some time, the doctor began closing up the wounds, stitching the skin over the bullet wounds. He applied stitches to the already healing wound in the shoulder as well. Then he stepped back from the table. 

"Will he live?" the asset asked. 

"I think so, unless there are complications. His endurance and healing are phenomenal. He should have been dead before I got here but he wasn't. Now, I think his enhanced healing should take over, but there's always a risk with stomach injuries." 

The asset listened. The doctor did not know for sure. The doctor was still worried about complications. The asset would not be able to heal the target if there were complications but the doctor would. It could not kill the doctor yet. 

"You will stay here," the asset said, "in case of complications." 

"Please, my family." 

"If he lives, you will see them again." It was a lie, but the doctor seemed to accept it. Perhaps the doctor thought that the asset had concealed the location of this base in order that he might spare the doctor's life. It was naive, but naivety that the asset could make use of. It found a set of handcuffs and secured the doctor in the corner of the room, locking his wrists around a metal pipe. The doctor could sit and rest, and keep an eye on the target's condition, but he would not be able to interfere with the target's restraints from this position. 

The asset cleaned the blood from his hands and exchanged the scrubs for the civilian clothing it had worn earlier. It reassessed the order of actions and decided to dump the car now to remove the risk of the stolen vehicle being spotted. It would act quickly and then return to see that there had been no complications. It could watch the target until he woke or died.


	3. Chapter 3

The asset had dumped the car well away from the base and returned on foot. On the way, it had passed a small deli that sold soup and a protocol asserted itself. When that body was sick, it was protocol to give chicken broth. The target would need fluids and protein but would not be able to digest solid food due to the injuries to the stomach region. 

The asset returned to the safe house with a large quantity of chicken broth. At the scent of it, the restrained doctor looked up eagerly and his stomach made growling noises. The asset supposed that the doctor would be less efficient if distracted by hunger, but the broth was for the target. The asset set the broth aside and retrieved protein bars from a store of supplies, tossing them to the doctor to appease his stomach. The doctor eyed the tubs of broth but didn't attempt to argue. 

The asset released the doctor's restraints so that he could check on the target's recovery, followed by restraining him again after the doctor pronounced that the signs were good. The asset ignored its own physical needs and waited in the corner of the room, taking up a position from which it could observe both target and doctor in case of change or threat. It waited. 

Time passed. The asset watched. The doctor slept a little, leaning against the wall. The target slept on. Once, the asset changed a bag that fed into the target's drip when the first ran dry, then it returned to keeping watch. It calculated that five hours had passed since returning with the broth when the target stirred awake. 

The target was restrained on the table, but he could turn his head slightly. His eyes fell on the asset. 

"Bucky?" 

The asset moved to the doctor, waking him with an abrupt shake and undoing the handcuffs. When the doctor was slow to stir, the asset grabbed his arm and hauled him upright, pushing him towards the table to assess the target's condition. The doctor worked efficiently, inspecting the injuries, taking measurements of temperature, asking the target about pain and symptoms. 

"Will he live?" the asset asked. 

The doctor nodded. "He's doing much better than anyone else would do. The wounds look like they happened days ago. He'll live." 

The asset nodded once and drew a gun, intending to execute the doctor quickly now that his usefulness was over. 

"You promised you'd let me go," the doctor protested, raising arms in surrender. 

That wasn't what kept the asset's finger from the trigger. What stilled its hand was the target saying, "Bucky, stop!" in a tone that was unmistakably an order. 

It had been far too long between orders. The asset was not used to operating without orders so there was a strange comfort in receiving one, even if it was from a mission target. There was also a whisper of a thought in the back of its mind that it had obeyed orders from this voice before. That thought brought with it the question: was it right to obey this voice's orders now? 

"Bucky, you have to let him go," the target said. Not an order, but a fact. A statement of what had to be. Like a protocol. 

The asset hesitated further. It had considered the option of letting the doctor go but dismissed it as increasing risk with no tangible reward, but it was still a possibility. It hadn't received orders to kill the doctor. The new order was to let the doctor go. The new protocol said that the doctor had to be let go. 

The doctor was blubbering and begging, insisting that he wouldn't tell anyone, that he just wanted to see his family. The asset wasn't moved by the begging. It had seen begging before. Begging was irrelevant. 

But the target said, "Bucky, let him go. Please." 

The please was irrelevant. The words before that were an order. The half-remembered protocol that came from the same source as the protocol to wipe away blood or supply broth informed it that orders from this man were valid. It could obey these orders. 

The asset had had many handlers in its time. It didn't know how handlers were chosen, how mission commanders were selected. It only knew to obey the orders given by such people. If this person was now its handler, then his orders were to be obeyed as much as any other orders it had been given in the past. Something clicked inside the asset's mind, the new positions established themselves, and all doubt was erased. The doctor would be allowed to live. 

"Move," the asset ordered, indicating the door with its head while it kept the gun aimed at the doctor. It applied duct tape again on the doctor's limbs and mouth. It had to find another car to steal in order to transport the doctor to the outskirts of the city, dumping him on the side of a road where he would be seen within half an hour, even though the hour was early. The task done, the asset returned the stolen car to where it had been taken from, wiped down for prints, and returned to the safe house. 

Once inside, it checked that the target was still alive. The target lay exactly where he had been left, held in place by the restraints on the table. 

"Is he alive?" the target asked. 

"Yes," the asset answered. Answering direct questions regarding the completion of mission orders was protocol. The target sagged with relief as much as he was able to given his restraints. 

This protocol attended to, the asset returned to the broth protocol that had been initiated earlier. The former bank had a break room for staff on the floor above and this room included a microwave. The asset had rarely been in the break room but it had witnessed its use on occasion enough to understand its function and the controls were easy to decipher. The asset placed a tub of broth inside and activated the machine to heat the broth. It returned to the room with the target holding now-heated broth and a spoon. 

"Chicken soup?" the target asked. 

"Liquid and protein required for healing," the asset said. It held a spoon of broth to the target's mouth. The target drank it as the asset poured it carefully inside. 

"Why go to all this effort to keep me alive?" the target asked. "Unless it's because you remember me?" 

"Mission orders," the asset replied. "Capture target alive, return to base, secure in chair for processing of target." 

"What does processing mean?" 

The asset only knew the answer as it related to its own processing. "Mind wipe. Conditioning. Application of protocols." 

The target swore. "They want to do to me what they did to you?" 

"Yes." 

The asset spooned more broth into the target's mouth. 

After a few mouthfuls, the target asked, "The people giving you orders, are they here now?" 

That was a difficult question. The people who had given orders to capture the target were gone, either dead in the recent fight, captured by authorities, or fled, but handler protocols had transferred. The codewords hadn't been said, but the protocol had transferred anyway. The target was the one the asset obeyed now. Therefore one who could give him orders was present. 

"Yes," the asset replied. 

The target swore again. The asset fed him more soup. 

"Do you know who I am?" the target asked. 

"You're my mission," the asset answered. This answer came easily. The mission had changed. The mission was obey not capture, but the target of the mission remained the same. This answer seemed to upset the target. 

"Please, Buck. Do you remember me?" 

Not so easy a question to answer. The asset looked at the features. It knew the face. It knew the protocol to clean that face after injury. It knew the protocol to obey that voice. It didn't have the source of these protocols. It considered a long while before answering, continuing to feed the target broth as it did so. 

"You are familiar," it said. "Source of familiarity uncertain." 

"We're friends," the target said. "We grew up together. You lived two doors down from me when we were kids. What you did before, cleaning up my face, that's what you always used to do when I got into fights. For a minute, it was like you were the old Bucky." 

There was a pleading look in the target's eyes. 

"Old protocol," the asset said, because this explained the strange urge to clean the face and bring broth. Protocols laid down prior to conditioning, reasserting themselves now that there were no current mission parameters, no active orders to take precedence. 

"If you remembered enough to do that, there's got to be more you remember." 

"Memory wipe is standard procedure post-mission," the asset informed him. "Extensive memory wipe is part of initial processing. Original personality unnecessary. Original personality a detriment to mission success. Eradicated." 

The target closed his eyes, a look of utter pain on his face. The asset wondered if the injuries were the source. Should it have kept the doctor around longer? If the injuries were threatening the target's life again, the asset did not have the skill to repair the damage. Allowing the target to die was unacceptable. 

But the target opened his eyes again, looking at the asset through tears, and the asset understood the pain to be emotional rather than physical. There was still an urge to repair this damage, but the asset didn't have the skills to do that either. 

"I'm sorry, Buck," the target said. 

The asset wasn't certain what the target was apologising for, but the statement did not require a response. The asset continued with the chicken broth protocol.


	4. Chapter 4

"Bucky, stop," the target said. The asset froze, halfway through the process of refilling the spoon with chicken broth. 

"I can't take being fed like a baby anymore," the target continued. The asset was in the process of feeding the target the second tub of broth from the deli. This was acceptable. The target had consumed some liquid and protein so the protocol had been fulfilled. Now it could fulfil the wishes of its handler, even if those wishes weren't expressed in the form of an order. The wish was to stop. 

The asset carried the broth and spoon into the small break room the Hydra staff had used to feed themselves and prepare coffee when they had been on duty here. The asset washed the spoon and sealed the container of broth. It placed the broth in the small fridge in case it was required for further broth protocol later. This task completed, the asset returned to the target. It took up a position from which it could watch the target and the doorway, alert for any threat or any sign of escape. 

The target watched it as the minutes crept past. 

"What now?" the target asked. 

The question was unclear. The asset remained silent. 

"Did they leave you here with me to torture me?" 

"No." No one had left the asset here. No one was left to leave it here. 

"Then why are you here?" 

That was another difficult question. It took the asset a moment to work out an appropriate response. 

"Awaiting orders." 

"You don't have to obey those orders," the target said. That statement made no sense. Of course the asset had to obey orders. That was what orders meant. To do otherwise than obey orders would make as much sense as attempting to jump into the air and fly. The asset didn't reply. 

The target watched him in silence for several minutes more. 

"You used to obey my orders once," the target said. "Most of the time anyway. Sometimes you'd argue, if you thought I was putting myself at too big a risk. Do you remember that?" 

"No memory of incidents," the asset replied. "Knowledge that I used to obey your orders recognised." 

"If you obeyed my orders before, would you obey them now?" 

That was an easier question. "Yes." 

The target blinked at it in surprise. 

"Undo these restraints," he said, tone cautious. The asset obeyed. It went to the table and began systematically undoing the restraints that held the target trapped to it. 

"We have to hurry," the target said. "Someone's bound to come in and give you different orders." 

The asset didn't expect anyone else to enter the room. The Hydra operatives who should have been stationed here were not in evidence. Still, it obeyed the imperative to hurry, not caring if it damaged the restraints as it released the target. The target pulled the drip out of his arms, apparently not caring for the damage doing so would cause. 

"Help me up," the target said, once the last restraint was gone. Some part of the asset resisted, some deep protocol that was opposed to the possibility of this man causing himself further injury, but an order had been given and orders were to be obeyed without question or hesitation. The asset used its flesh arm to lift the target from the bed, supporting his weight. The target put his arm around the asset's shoulders, clinging on to stay upright. His legs bore a little of his weight but only a small portion and together they began moving towards the door. 

"Clothes would take too long," the target muttered. He was still wearing almost nothing, just the underwear that hadn't been concealing any injuries and his boots since there had been no need to remove those to remove the uniform. The target wouldn't injure himself further by walking across rough ground. 

"I need a weapon," the target said. The asset drew a gun from a holster and handed it to the target, who took it with a hand shaking so badly that it was unlikely he would be able to make a single shot. Unless he put the gun right against the asset's chest and fired, but that was unlikely, given his earlier behaviour on the helicarrier. 

The asset had other weapons, and drew a second gun since it seemed the target expected violence. 

"Let's get out of here," the target said. The asset started moving, half-carrying the target through the door. It took less than three minutes for the asset to guide the target through the Hydra base, up the stairs, through the security doors that sealed away the lower areas of the former bank, and out into the street. It was still early, so the street was quiet, but it was better lit now and it wouldn't be long before crowds of people would fill the sidewalks and traffic would crowd the street. As it was, a single man was walking along in their direction, barely looking up as he tapped at the screen of his phone. 

At a nudge from the target, the asset moved them in the man's direction. The asset eyed in warily, checking for some sign that the distraction was a ruse or that the man was armed, but the man didn't even notice them until he nearly bumped into them. 

"Excuse me," the target said. "I need to borrow your phone." 

The man looked up, "The hell you..." He stopped. His eyes went wide. "Holy crap! You're Captain America." 

"That I am. Please. Your phone." 

The man looked the target up and down, taking in his nearly-naked state, the bandages, the fact he was being held upright by the asset. He handed over the phone. 

The target gave the gun back to the asset so that he had a hand free to take the phone, since his other hand was still clinging to the asset's shoulder in the fight to stay upright. The target entered a number from memory and began a call. The asset could only hear his side of the conversation. 

"Nat, it's me... I'm..." He looked back at the man whose phone he was using. "Where are we?" 

The man gave a street address and the target repeated it into the phone. 

"I'm beat up pretty bad," the target continued, "and you may need to contact Stark for assistance... I'm with Bucky... He's, well, right now he's obeying my orders but I don't know how long that will last. As soon as anyone from Hydra shows up, he might be back to trying to kill me. We need some way to contain him... Without hurting him." That last was said in a firm and angry tone. The asset suspected that the person one the other end of the phone call had suggested that the asset would be easier to contain if it was dead. 

Apparently the person at the other end of the phone line agreed because the target soon ended the call, after ordering the person on the other end to bring clothes too. He handed the phone back to the owner. 

"Can I get a selfie?" the man asked. 

"I'm not at my most photogenic right now," the target said, trying to joke, even though he was far too pale and had obvious injuries over large parts of his body. 

"Please. I'll never get a chance like this again and no one will ever believe that I've met Captain America otherwise." 

The target agreed and the man pressed in on his other side to operate the camera on his phone. The asset distrusted the closeness. It would be far too easy for the man to draw a bladed weapon from a concealed sheath and stab the target before the asset could do anything to prevent it. The asset kept its gun in hand, ready to fire in an instant if required, but the man, after far more photos than was necessary, eventually stepped back. The instinct to murder the man lessened the more distance there was between him and the target. 

"This is awesome," the man said, still excited, swiping through the photos he'd just taken. "I can't believe it. Captain America. Is it true all that stuff on the news? Is the government Hydra?" 

"Not all of the government," the target said, "but the government has been infiltrated." 

The man looked like he might have a hundred more questions, but then a van screeched around the corner at far above the safe speed. The asset had its gun raised, aiming to blow out the front tire and ready to take out whoever emerged. 

"Stop!" the target ordered. The asset froze, gun still aimed at where the van had been a moment before, as the van came to a halt. The man whose phone the target had used was still there, taking photos of everything had happened. 

"Hold fire," the target added. 

The asset didn't fire. It couldn't fire, not now the order had been given to refrain from doing so, but it adjusted its position to keep its weapon aimed at the van and at the woman who emerged from it. She eyed the asset warily. There was no sign of weapons of her own, but the asset was certain she was ready to attack. 

"Put the gun down," the target ordered. The asset lowered its hand, the gun with it. The order was unclear. It could mean that it was supposed to drop the gun altogether, but the target seemed satisfied now that the gun was no longer aimed at the woman. 

"You weren't kidding," the woman said. 

"You get through to Stark?" 

"Yeah, he's sending a jet with a special package on it, and he'll have something ready in the tower when we arrive. For now, I think we should get him away from here before someone shows up to interfere with whatever it is you've done to turn him into your puppy." 

She didn't wait for a response but opened up the side of the van. She came forward to take hold of the target's other side, taking a portion of his weight. 

"You go in the front," she told the target. "I'll keep an eye on your buddy in the back." 

"Nat," the target started. 

"Don't start with me. Whoever's with him needs to be able to fight and you look like you'd lose to a toddler right now. You go in the front with Sam and no arguing until you've had a medical professional check you over." 

"I did have a medical professional check me over. Bucky kidnapped a doctor to help me." 

The woman didn't seem to care about this. It didn't change her decision. She helped the target over to the van and the asset stood beside the target as they moved, continuing to support his weight until he reached the open passenger door and climbed inside. The asset released his hold on the target and stepped back, waiting for orders, while the target buckled himself into the van's seat with a grimace of pain. The woman, Nat, turned to the asset. 

"Remove you weapons and get in the back of the van." 

The asset didn't move. The woman frowned. 

"I thought you said he was obeying orders," she said to the target. 

The asset didn't move. It waited for orders, but it wouldn't obey this strange woman. 

"Remove your weapons," the target said. The asset obeyed, setting down its guns on the ground, followed by its knives, the razor wire, the small stun grenade it kept in a side pocket, the small blade tucked into the sole of one shoe, and on through the rest of his weapons. 

"Holy crap," the target muttered, watching the pile grow. The asset couldn't remove its arm, which was its most important weapon, so it considered the order obeyed once it had deposited the garotte on the top of the pile. 

"You should keep this lot in the front with you so he can't get to it," Nat decided, picking up the pile, while the target ordered the asset to get into the back of the van and not fight anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be so much angst in this story, but I can't keep from giggling at the image of Steve Rogers in underwear and combat boots being asked for selfies mid-escape.


	5. Chapter 5

The van took them to a private airstrip outside the city. The asset spent the entire drive waiting, listening for orders from the target, but the target spoke to the others, giving a report on everything that had happened since he had woken up as the asset's prisoner. The target included every detail, including the chicken broth protocol. 

"Well that's not standard Hydra operating procedure," Nat said. 

"No, it's not," the target said. 

The asset heard those words and expected to be hit or reprimanded for breaching standard procedure, but the correction never came. Perhaps there would be a full punishment at their destination. Its body tensed in anticipation of the inevitable pain. The target continued talking, explaining how he had realised that the asset would follow his orders. 

"Why the hell would he obey someone he was sent to capture?" asked the driver, who the target had called Sam. 

"I don't know," the target answered. "At first I thought maybe he obeyed every order he was given, but he didn't listen to Nat." 

"That would make him a pretty useless assassin," Sam said, "because all it would take is one guy saying 'please don't kill me' to make him stop." 

"I think he remembers being part of the Howling Commandos, at least a little bit. He said he knew he used to follow my orders. I guess that's somehow got him listening to me, but I don't know how that will last if someone from Hydra starts giving him orders again." 

The story was done when the van reached the airstrip and the jet that was waiting for them. It was not a commercial craft, but one like those that had been on the helicarrier. The target climbed out of the van, helped by Sam. The asset thought again about those injuries and how it couldn't be good for the target to be moving, but it waited for orders. Nat opened the back of the van and climbed out. The asset remained where it had been placed, as another man emerged from the jet, walking down a ramp, towing a large, wheeled case behind him. 

"Hey, Cap," this man said, "I have to say, this is a good look on you. Half-dead and naked is not a style most men can pull off." 

"Tony," the target said, voice low and warning. "Do you have something that can help?" 

"Absolutely, as long as Bruce doesn't get angry about us borrowing his things. I had to make a few adjustments for size, but this was built to hold the Hulk, so it should be more than enough to secure tall, dark, and murderous in there." 

The target turned back to the van and the waiting asset. "Bucky, get out of the van, please." 

The asset unfastened the seatbelt and climbed out of the back of the van. It stood to attention in front of the door. 

"What do you need him to do?" the target asked. 

"Just stand there and hold his arms out in front of him," Tony replied. He was bending to open the lid of the case, revealing something silver and red inside. The target repeated the instruction and the asset held its arms out in front of it. 

Something metallic shot out of the case. It slammed into its chest, nearly knocking it over, but then the metal was around its back, squeezing its torso tight. Bands of metal coloured with red plating wrapped around its arms and pulled them in, folding them across its stomach and then sealing to the metal cylinder that now encased its upper body. The asset's arms were useless to it now, its hands trapped beneath layers of plating, but the metal thing wasn't done. More bands of metal wrapped around the asset's thighs, linking together by a hinged mechanism that would allow it to walk but severely limited its range of movement. Running or kicks would be all but impossible now. 

The asset didn't test its strength against the restraints - it hadn't been ordered to - but it suspected that it would struggle to break free of these restraints. It wouldn't be able to fight if an enemy attacked. It wouldn't be able to fight if someone attacked the target. That was a problem, because the protocol was to protect the target. How could it protect if it couldn't fight? 

"All good, Cap," Tony said. 

"Thanks." The target looked at the asset, studying the restraints that now held it. "Get on board the jet." 

The asset obeyed, though walking to the jet and up the ramp was extremely difficult because the leg restraints barely gave it enough range of movement to lift its feet for each step, but it was able to follow the order. Following the next order was easier and it sat down on one of the chairs inside the jet. Although the vehicle looked military from the outside, it was clear this had been adjusted, with extra padding on the seats and what appeared to be a small bar installed near the front. 

The target accepted some sweatpants and a shirt that Tony provided for him, putting them on with a lot of assistance from Sam. His face showed signs of pain and the asset felt an urge to protect him from this activity, but the target appeared to want to perform it. At last, the clothes were on and the target sank down into the chair beside the asset. 

"Don't you think you should give him a little distance?" Tony asked. 

"He's had plenty of opportunity to kill me and he hasn't," the target answered. 

"He looks like he tried." 

But the target was already closing his eyes, looking like he planned to sleep through this fight. That was good. Sleep was important for healing. The asset watched the others settle into the plane seats. Tony stood in front of the seat the asset sat in, studying it. 

"Anybody home in there?" he asked. The asset didn't answer. The question was not addressed to it by an authorised handler. 

"He only seems to respond to Steve," Sam said. 

The asset proceeded to prove his point by not answering questions or responding to instructions through the flight, while Tony flew the jet away from the airstrip. It ignored the attempts to question it, and the offers of food and drink that Sam made after a while. It waited for its target to wake up and start issuing orders again. 

Nat nudged the target awake as the plane began its decent onto a helipad on the roof of a tall building, which suggested that this wasn't an ordinary jet, but that was not relevant to its current mission. The target got to his feet with the help of Sam and ordered the asset to stand and follow him. The asset obeyed. It could do nothing else. 

The climb down from the jet was more difficult than climbing into it, but the target was moving slowly ahead of it so it didn't slow their progress down too much. Tony moved ahead of them to show the way, leading them inside a building and into an elevator. 

"Jarvis, floor nineteen," Tony said, and the elevator started moving. The asset watched the numbers on the elevator display drop lower until they reached nineteen, then the little group moved out, Tony leading the way. A door opened up for them automatically and Tony waited outside while the target took the asset inside. The room was split into two parts. The part nearest the door looked like a smart apartment, except that the furniture appeared to be fixed to the floor. There was a table and chairs, a couch, a chest of drawers, all sealed in place so it couldn't be lifted and used as a weapon. The corners were rounded off everything and edged with a thin line of padding so that even if the asset beat a person's head against the furnishings, it would limit the possible damage. There was a large TV screen in one wall, but it was actually _in_ the wall behind a thick, transparent screen. It couldn't be removed either. This was a room designed to give comfort while reducing the possibilities for damage. 

The other half of the room was even more controlled. A transparent wall sealed in a space containing a large mattress that appeared to have a pillow built into it. There was nothing else in that part of the room at all. 

As the asset eyed that space, the transparent wall slid apart in the middle, creating a doorway. 

"All approval tested by the big, green guy," Tony said from the doorway. "It should hold him." 

"Jarvis, undo the restraints," the target ordered. The metal cylinder and its cuffs fell away, clanging onto the floor and leaving the asset free to move again. It didn't. It waited for the next order. 

"Go through into the secure room," the target told him. The asset obeyed. It turned to face its target, waiting, while the transparent wall closed up again. Tony gathered up the restraints once the wall was fully closed. The wall was more than an inch thick, so the asset had no reason to doubt the assessment that it would hold against its strength. On the other side of the wall, the target was looking at it with a mournful expression. 

"You rest for a bit. I'll be back when I can." 

The target left again, still leaning on Sam for support. The door closed behind him, leaving the asset alone. 

The asset had its order. It was supposed to rest. 

If it wasn't required for an active mission yet, then conserving its energy was logical. It had nothing else it could do now except obey. It couldn't enact the chicken broth protocol or the injury tending protocol while it was sealed in this room away from its target. It lay down on the oversized mattress and closed its eyes. It had been ordered to rest, so now was the time for sleep. When it woke, there would be new orders for it.


	6. Chapter 6

The asset woke after some hours, refreshed and ready for its next mission, but there was no one to give it fresh orders. It was still alone in the cell. It sat up on the mattress, wanting to seem alert when its target returned. It could wait standing, but there was no point in tiring out leg muscles for no purpose. It had been ordered to rest, so it would conserve energy. It sat on the mattress and stared at the door. 

Time passed. 

The asset waited. 

The asset adjusted position slightly to prevent the leg muscles from seizing up. It must be ready for action as soon as required. 

The asset waited. 

Time passed. 

The outer door opened and the target walked in, no longer requiring another person's assistance, which caused some tension in the asset's body to inexplicably release. The bruising on his face was already diminishing, though the stiffness of movement suggested that healing of the core was not complete yet. The target was carrying a plate and a cup of water, which it set down on the table while the outer door closed and sealed behind him. He stood on the other side of the dividing barrier and looked at the asset. 

"If I open this up," the target gestured at the transparent wall, "are you going to try and attack me?" 

"No," the asset answered. The target was its handler now. It could not attack its handler. 

"Are you going to try and run away?" 

"No." The target was its handler. It was not allowed to run away from its handler. 

"OK then. Jarvis, open the inner door." The transparent barrier slid apart leaving an opening. The asset didn't move. It hadn't been ordered to move yet. 

"Do you need the bathroom?" the target asked. 

The asset considered its physical state. There was a painful pressure in its abdomen that indicated an over-full bladder. 

"Yes." 

"Jarvis, the bathroom." A piece of the wall slid aside, becoming a doorway. The target indicated it. "The bathroom's through there." 

The asset didn't move. It hadn't been ordered to. The information about the bathroom might have been intended as an instruction but it might also be intended as a trap, to see if it would show unnecessary initiative. 

"Do you need help?" the target asked, sounding concerned. 

"No." 

"Then why aren't you going to the bathroom?" 

"You haven't ordered me to." 

"Oh. Right. Then, I order you to use the bathroom?" He sounded uncertain, like it was a question rather than an order, but the wording was correct. The asset stood in a single motion and walked through into the outer room and then through the new doorway. The space beyond had a toilet, shower head, and small washbasin. As with the rest of the furnishings, everything appeared to be solidly fixed to the walls and floor. If it were to get into a fight in this space, it could probably drive a person's skull into the soap dispenser nozzle with great effectiveness, but there was nothing in this room it would be able to remove to use as a portable weapon. Still, it had its arm and that was weapon enough if it needed one. 

It used the toilet and then washed its hands in the small sink, careful about the interaction of soap with the metal plates of his left hand. Once this was finished, it walked back into the main part of the room. 

"Have a seat," the target said. He indicated one of the chairs at the table. The asset walked across and slid into the seat. The plate was in front of him, covered in sandwiches, vegetable sticks, and chips. 

"The food's for you," the target said. The asset waited. 

After a minute, the target said, "You're waiting for me to order you to eat, aren't you?" 

"Yes." 

The target made a frustrated noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. 

"You don't have to... I mean..." The target stopped and took a breath. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, but it was a restrained calm, not managing to conceal the anger behind it. The asset expected to be hit, expected correction for an unknown mistake, but the blow didn't come. 

"You're allowed to eat," the target said. "You're allowed to go to the bathroom. You're allowed to go to sleep. You know what your body needs and when better than I do, so you don't need to wait to be told. If you need to use the bathroom, you can use the bathroom. If you're hungry, you can eat. If you're thirsty, you can drink. If you're tired, you can sleep. If you're not, then you don't. There doesn't have to be an order for every little thing. Do you understand?" 

"Yes," the asset answered. On longer missions, it was sometimes expected to care for its own physical needs. It would be given basic rations and told to use them as necessary in order that its body would be strong enough to complete the work required. It would deal with the necessities of sleep and bladder and first aid according to its own judgement so that it could best achieve the mission parameters. If this, whatever this was, was going to be a long mission, then it was understandable that its handler would not want to bother ordering the asset to take every bite of food. 

Still, the asset half-expected correction as it reached for a sandwich. It lifted the sandwich to its mouth, bit, chewed, and swallowed. There was no correction. No blow to its body. No reprimand. The target smiled faintly, in a strained manner. The asset judged that its behaviour was correct and conditioned, taking a mouthful of the water to accompany its food. It paused after the drink, waiting to see if this would warrant reprimand, but then it continued. It finished the drink before it had finished the food and its body alerted him that it still required liquid. It was dehydrated from the previous fight and the lack of water since then. 

It had been told it was allowed to drink when it was thirsty, so it took the plastic cup and stood. The target tensed but did not issue any orders to the contrary, so the asset walked into the bathroom and filled the cup at the faucet. It drank one cup of water and then filled it again, returning to the table. It continued to eat and drink until plate and cup were empty. 

The meal done, it lowered its hands to its side and looked at its target, waiting for orders. 

"Do you know who I am?" the target said. 

"You're my mission," the asset answered. 

The target flinched. That was the wrong answer. Still the target did not correct it physically. 

"Steve. I'm Steve. I'm your friend. Do you remember?" 

"Steve," the asset repeated. 

"That's right. I'm Steve and you're Bucky. Do you remember?" 

The asset remembered this man calling it various names on the helicarrier. James Buchanan Barnes, he had said. The name meant nothing to it. 

"No," it answered. 

That was the wrong answer too. The target grimaced. 

"It's OK," the target, Steve, said. "I'll help you remember. You reacted before, you remembered that you used to follow me, so the memories must be in there somewhere. We'll work to get them out, together. It'll be you and me, just like before. Do you understand?" 

"No," the asset answered, because it didn't understand. It understood the meaning of the words individually, but not when they were strung into these configurations. There were a lot of words, but it was the asset. It had no knowledge of the before that the target was talking about, no access to the memories Steve wanted to retrieve. 

"We have time. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you. We'll figure it out." 

The asset did not understand the statement about lack of hurt. The asset was a weapon. It's entire purpose was hurt. It existed to hurt others and that caused it to be hurt itself. Without hurt, what was it? 

The asset did not have an appropriate response to Steve's statement so it went with one which was usually deemed acceptable: "Ready to comply." 

From the expression on Steve's face, that was not the correct response.


	7. Chapter 7

The target, Steve, left the plastic cup so that the asset could get water whenever it needed to. He took the paper plate away and came back with more food in the form of protein bars and a couple of pieces of fruit, which he left on the table and told the asset it could eat when it wanted to. The asset considered the state of its body and decided that further nutrition was not required at this time. 

When the asset didn't eat, Steve spoke to the invisible Jarvis and asked him to play the movies. Steve ordered the asset to sit on the couch and then sat down beside him. The TV screen began to play grainy black and white recordings without sound. The footage showed a group of soldiers, sometimes marching, sometimes talking, or bending over maps to plan out strategy. A few segments showed them shooting or running through woods, but the asset judged that the footage was faked and that it was not a recording of genuine combat. 

Steve was featured heavily in the footage, often at the centre of the group, or giving orders that the others listened to. Beside him frequently was a soldier who looked like the asset's reflection. The soldier in the films wasn't as heavily muscled, he had shorter hair, and he spoke and laughed like the others around him. He wasn't an asset. 

"That's you," Steve said, but the asset knew this information to be incorrect. 

Steve talked about the scenes that were being showed, saying sometimes where they had been filmed, or relating a story about how one of the soldiers had tripped by accident and how the others had acted as though he'd taken fire to make the shot more dramatic. 

"It was all staged, of course," Steve said. "We called it the dancing monkey show. The higher-ups wanted propaganda footage to show back home so we had to play our parts. We didn't want to take film crews on actual missions so we would act out these scenes. I'd done it before, back in studios, but now we got to have a lot of fun with it. We kept trying to make each one more dramatic than the last. We did one where I was carrying Dum Dum over my shoulder like he was injured and running through the forest like half of Hydra were after us, and he was firing backwards the whole time. Then we got in trouble for filming a scene where Dernier rigged up a whole load of explosives all around us and even blew up a jeep and we got told not to waste any more resources on fake battles." 

Steve smiled sadly. The asset watched him out of the corner of its eye while the footage continued to play. One of the battle scenes played out, but then it switched to shots of a group of people pouring over a map, while Steve held a compass in one hand. 

"We didn't let them film our actual strategy briefings," Steve continued, "in case it got back to Hydra. If the films fell into enemy hands, they might have lip-readers or someone who could interpret what we were planning, so the briefing scenes were as fake as anything else. In this one, I think we were talking about getting breakfast from a bakery in a nearby village. I talked about it like it was a serious mission, like it was a rescue op and the croissants were the target and the bakers were enemy forces we were negotiating an exchange with." The shot on the screen zoomed in on the compass Steve held, an image of a woman's face taped to its lid. "The cameraman had to zoom in like that because you were off on the right of the shot cracking up. You couldn't keep a straight face and they didn't want to ruin the footage by making it obvious we weren't taking it seriously." 

The footage changed again, but this time Steve didn't start narrating the scene. He looked across at the asset. 

"Do you remember, Buck?" 

"No." 

"Nothing's familiar about this at all?" 

"No." 

It recognised the face on the screen that looked like its face, but it had no knowledge associated with that face, no recollection of the events Steve narrated. It wondered if it would be punished for failure to remember, but Steve just sighed and looked sad. He watched the footage silently until the film started looping back on itself, showing the same footage that had been shown at the start. 

"I... I'm going to get us some more food," Steve said, his voice sounding rough. He was blinking a lot. "You stay here and keep watching. Maybe something will jog a memory." 

Steve stood and walked for the door, even though the food he'd brought earlier was still untouched. The asset waited, eyes fixed on the screen, obeying the order. 

***

Steve returned just before the footage reached the end. This time, he was carrying two plates. He had a bottle of something tucked under one arm, with plastic cups balanced over the bottle's lid. The asset observed this from the corner of its eye, keeping its main attention focused on the screen in front of it, as it had been ordered to. 

"Bucky, come here." The tone was gentle, but it was an order. The asset stood and walked back to the table. It sat when it was instructed to. Steve placed the two plates in the middle of the table. One held chicken stew, the other beef. 

"I want you to make a choice," Steve said. "I want you to decide which one you want to eat. I'll eat the other one and you eat the one you pick, assuming you're hungry. Which one do you want?" 

The asset was uncertain as to the correct response here. Its purpose was to do what its handler told it, to make its handler happy. Perhaps that was the correct answer. 

"Which one do you want?" the asset asked. Asking questions was not encouraged but it was allowable when insufficient information had been provided to form an appropriate strategy. If the asset could know which Steve wanted, then it would have sufficient information to select the other option. 

"This isn't about what I want. This is about what you want. I will be happy with either. You pick the one you want to eat." 

The asset considered the options. Both were similar in portion size, and in the quantity of elements such as vegetable and potatoes. The only significant difference was in the meat choice. Beef and chicken would provide similar protein quantities, but the beef would provide more calories, which would be important if the asset were required to fight in the near future. It would also provide iron, which would be useful in the case of blood loss. The beef stew would seem to be the logical choice. Except, the asset realised, that Steve would be eating whichever meal it didn't select. This wasn't just about the asset's nutritional needs. Steve was the one who had suffered recent severe blood loss and would require additional calories for healing. He required the beef more than the asset did. 

Choosing the better option for Steve felt like a correct response. 

"Chicken," the asset said. Steve smiled, and the asset felt it had judged correctly. 

"Here," Steve pushed the plate of chicken stew towards the asset, along with a plastic spoon. He drew the plate of beef stew to himself along with another spoon. Before eating, he opened the bottle and poured orange juice into the two cups, keeping one for himself and offering the other to the asset. 

Orange juice was good. It contained important nutrients and would assist with the uptake of the iron that Steve required to heal from his injuries. 

The asset hadn't been ordered to eat, but it remembered the instructions from earlier. It considered its physical state. It required energy, so it picked up the spoon and began to eat the chicken stew. As it ate, it considered the plastic spoon in its hand. It hadn't been given a knife or fork, even plastic ones, presumably because Steve did not wish it to have weapons, but it could still do considerable damage with a plastic spoon. It could drive the handle into a soft area, such as the eye. The damage would probably not be enough to kill an opponent, but it would cause significant pain and reduce or destroy their ability to see, giving it an advantage enough to use its arm and finish the task. 

The asset wondered if it ought to inform Steve that it could use the spoon as a weapon, so that it could restrict the asset's access to these as well. It decided against it. Handlers didn't like having the judgement questioned. Steve might not be a standard handler, but the asset had no reason to risk punishment. Besides, it might have use for a weapon later. So it ate its food in silence. 

After a while, Steve began to talk again. 

"There's a lot less potato in this than in the stews we used to have when we were younger. Do you remember?" 

"No." 

"Potatoes were cheap. They padded out everything. Potatoes and beans and more potatoes. We would have stew with a tiny bit of whatever off-cut or scraps of meat we could convince the butcher to give us cheap, chopped up with a bit of carrot and then so many potatoes. When we got meat, it wasn't usually one piece. We'd buy bits of offal because it was cheapest, but Mr Hannelly, the butcher, he took pity on us so he'd sometimes give us a bag with a mix of bits of chicken and beef and whatever else he had that were too small to sell to real customers, and we'd put them in a stew. You'd always give me the beef. You said I needed the iron." 

He prodded at the beef stew the asset had selected for him, with a sad smile on his face. 

Was that why choosing to take the chicken stew had been the correct response? Because the Bucky person Steve wanted it to be would have made that choice? 

Steve wanted the asset to make the choices James Buchanan Barnes would have chosen. It would use this information in evaluating future choices.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence in this chapter. And for Tony coming across really, really badly.

Steve brought photographs, old pictures of what Brooklyn used to look like. He showed them to the asset, always talking, telling stories about this place or that. He told the asset about the school he and Bucky had attended, or the church they used to go to. 

"You were never much of one for church," Steve said. "Your folks never really believed and I don't think you ever did but Ma insisted on you coming to mass with us. I remember once, I'd been ill but I was getting well enough again to leave on my own, so Ma wanted you to wash up and go with her to church. You wanted to stay with me, and said that there was no point going to church and talking to God since God didn't ever listen. If God listened to prayers, I wouldn't get pneumonia and have problems breathing. Ma got angry and said that it wasn't your place to question God's judgement but you said you'd question it as much as you liked because the world was full of evil and bullies and sickness and God wasn't doing anything to put it right and either God's judgement wasn't worth much or he didn't care to fix things. Ma started giving you a lecture about original sin and all that, and our wickedness causing the evil of the world, but it was clear that wasn't going to convince you. So she pulled out the big guns. She asked what if you were wrong. What if I died as a good Catholic, all confessed up and with last rites done and went to heaven, and you died and God put you with the heathens who didn't go to church - she didn't actually say hell, but she made it clear we wouldn't be in the same place. She asked how you would feel if you couldn't see me for all eternity because you stopped going to church." 

Steve gave another of those little, sad smiles. "You said that if God was real and he was as all-knowing as the preachers said, he wouldn't dream of putting you and me in separate afterlives. You said it like you planned on marching into heaven and giving God a talking to if he even thought about separating us." There was another of those smiles. "But I guess you decided not to risk it, or you got another lecture that I didn't hear, because you kept coming to church with us anyway." 

The asset stared at the photo of the old stone building. It knew the question that would be coming next. 

"Do you remember, Bucky?" 

The asset wondered if it ought to say yes, if it ought to pretend it did remember because that was clearly the answer Steve wanted, but if it pretended and was caught in the lie, it would be punished and its handler wouldn't be happy at all. 

"No." 

Steve gave another sad sigh. The asset was failing its mission. It didn't know how to make this mission a success because the mission parameters were unclear. A new strategy was required. 

It couldn't pretend it knew things it did not know, but perhaps it could make a choice that Bucky would have made, in order to keep Steve from punishing it, or for ending the mission altogether. The asset considered its options. Steve wanted the asset to be interested in the pictures and the films. He wanted it to care about the contents and the stories. Perhaps it should make an inquiry for specific information. Curiosity about mission parameters was usually discouraged, but in this case the asset suspected there was an exception. But what information would the person Bucky have asked for? The asset considered what it knew of human behaviour. The Bucky person was a human, or had been, and the asset had frequently seen humans express interest in family. It remembered the doctor, pleading to live for the sake of its child. 

Did James Buchanan Barnes have a child? Unknown. He would have had parents though. 

The asset reached out for the pile of photographs, hesitant. Until now, it had sat impassively, looking at what was shown to it. It looked at Steve, waiting for a reprimand, but when none came, it started picking up pictures of people. There were some pictures of women in the pile. The asset lifted them out, studied them, and set them aside. 

"Do you recognise someone?" Steve asked. 

"No," the asset answered. Then he asked, "Is one of these women James Buchanan Barnes' mother?" 

Steve drew in a shuddering breath. He looked like he might cry and the asset worried it had miscalculated. But then there came a look of hope on his face and he seemed almost excited. 

"I don't have a photograph of her," he said. "I could draw a picture for you, if you'd like?" 

It was clear what the correct answer to that question was. "Yes." 

"OK. I'll go get my sketchpad. You keep looking through the photos. Maybe something will jog a memory." 

Steve headed for the door, which opened automatically for him. The asset considered testing the door to see if it would open for it, but it had been given an order to continue looking through the photographs, so that was what it did. It lifted each photo in turn, studied it carefully, and then set it aside before moving on to the next. Then he reached a photograph that did have a memory associated with it, though his memory was of a face significantly older than the one in the still image of a smiling man. 

The asset was still holding the photograph when Steve returned, sketchpad and box of pencils in his hand. 

"I have a memory of this man." The asset showed the photo. 

"Howard? You remember him?" Steve seemed more excited about this than he had been about the question about Barnes' mother. 

"Yes." 

"Tell me." 

"Retrieval and assassination mission. The primary target was transporting portions of an experimental serum in a civilian vehicle without guard under guise of a social journey to avoid suspicion. I followed the car on a motorbike until a suitably clear stretched of road. I shot out the rear tire of the car, forcing the vehicle off the road. The crash was not sufficient to kill either target. The primary target was uninjured enough to climb out of the driver's seat, so I prioritised his dispatch. He looked at me and addressed me as Sergeant Barnes. I beat his head against the ground multiple times to cause blunt force trauma until he was dead and then placed him in the car with the point of the injury against the steering wheel so that it would appear his death was caused by the crash. I proceeded to the secondary target and broke her neck, again positioning her so that it would appear she died when the car crashed. I retrieved the serum from the car's trunk and returned to base to report mission success." 

Steve was staring at him, a look of horror on his face. The asset wondered if it had made a mistake, but it had followed the order to recount the memory. 

"You..." Steve's voice shook. "He was your friend. He recognised you." 

"Following that mission, it became standard protocol for me to wear the mask on missions on American soil," the asset informed him. 

Steve continued to stare at him. 

The asset wondered what would happen. Would it be punished? It had rarely been punished for mission success, but it was clear that the success of this mission distressed Steve. 

The door to the room opened and something red and shining burst in. The asset barely had time to register the man-shaped flying machine before it was required to defend itself. It brought its metal arm up to block the first blow that was aimed at its face, already moving to avoid the next punch. 

"Stop!" Steve yelled. 

The asset stopped. 

The red thing didn't. The metal-wrapped fist impacted with the side of the asset's face in a burst of pain and the possibility of cracked bone. The asset didn't attempt to fight back. It had been told to stop. The next blow had enough force to knock it over and then the red thing was raising a hand towards it, a glow forming on the palm. Some form of weapon. The asset waited for its elimination. 

"Tony, stop!" Steve leapt between the red thing and the asset. The red thing was Tony, then, in some form of armour. 

"He killed my mom!" 

Steve grabbed at Tony's arm, pulling it down so that it was no longer aimed at the asset but Tony's other arm swung round in a punch to Steve's face. 

The protocol to protect its handler overruled the previous order to stop, especially since the order might have been aimed at Tony. The asset leapt from the floor, grabbing the hand that had punched Steve, squeezing with all the strength he could generate in its metal arm until something cracked inside the armour's palm, hopefully damaging the weapon there. 

Tony was moving again, attempting to deliver new blows, and the asset had to keep moving, avoiding any chance of hitting Steve, who was trying to grab at both of them. Tony's fighting style was focused on the arms, trying to get more distance to bring those palm-weapons into view. The asset moved behind him, getting the metal arm around Tony's throat. The armour prevented a choke-hold but the asset had more leverage from this position. 

"Stop it, both of you!" Steve ordered. 

The asset froze. Tony didn't. He flung the asset off him and delivered a kick as the asset fell. There was more force behind that kick than an unassisted human could manage and the asset suspected one of its ribs might be broken. There was pain with every breath, but it would not allow that to limit its effectiveness, as soon as it was allowed to fight again. 

Steve pushed between Tony and the asset again. 

"Tony, stop." 

"Didn't you hear him? He killed my mom. He didn't even care that he'd killed her! He talked about it like it was nothing." 

"It's not his fault!" 

"He killed her!" 

"He didn't have a choice! Look at him, Tony. He's followed every order I've given him. He had to be ordered to eat and go to the bathroom. They never gave him a choice about anything. You really think he's the one to blame for what happened?" 

"He's the one who did it." 

"Because he was forced! He's a victim here. Howard was my friend but Bucky's as much a victim as he was." 

"That thing there," Tony snarled, "is not Bucky. He's not your friend. He's the twisted monster they made him and the sooner you see it, the better we'll all be." 

The asset couldn't help the assessment that Tony was correct. It was not Bucky. It did not know how to be Bucky. 

"I won't let you hurt him. Don't make me fight you, Tony." 

"You really think you can take me? Yesterday you were half dead." 

"I won't let you hurt him!" 

The door opened again. More people came in, Nat and a man holding a combat bow. 

"Jarvis," said Nat, "override protocol: disable the suit." 

There was a low whining noise and the lights on the red suit of armour faded, Tony freezing in place. 

"What the hell?" Tony demanded.


	9. Chapter 9

"Jarvis, what are you doing?" Tony snarled from inside the frozen armour. He attempted to move, but the step was stiff and slow without the armour's power. Watching from its position on the floor, the asset judged it would be easy to take down this man now, if it were allowed to fight again. 

"I have disabled your Iron Man suit in accordance with the override protocol," a disembodied voice said. 

"Well power it back up. You don't answer to her. You answer to me." 

"Miss Potts and Agent Romanov installed an override protocol to be activated in instances were you show higher than usual tendencies towards self-destruction." 

"You hacked Jarvis?!" Tony seemed angrier about this than he had been about the asset killing his mother. 

"It was Pepper's idea." 

"It is for your own safety, sir," the voice stated calmly. 

Steve spoke then, "Nat, will you get Tony out of here until he's calmed down." 

"You think I'm going to calm down about the fact he-" 

"Tony," Nat said, stepping in front of him, "you're not going to win this one right now. Stand down." 

"This isn't over," Tony snarled, but he left the room, each step slow and awkward in the disabled armour. Nat followed him, looking ready to fight, but the man with the bow stayed by the door. Steve came to the asset and crouched in front of it, surveyed the damage done to it. 

"Are you hurt?" Steve asked. 

"Likely bone fracture in left cheek," the asset answered. "Possible broken rib." 

Steve sword under his breath. "I need to get you checked out by a doctor. Can you stand?" 

"Yes."

It didn't stand though. The question had been about its ability, not an instruction to do so. 

"Are you sure it's a good idea to take him out there?" asked the guy with the bow. 

"Are you worried about him hurting someone or Tony hurting him?" Steve asked. 

"I can multitask." 

"Might I observe, sir," said the disembodied Jarvis voice, "that Sergeant Barnes only attempted to fight when he was attacked, or when you were. Indeed, he stopped fighting back as soon as you ordered him to stop, even though Mr Stark was continuing to attack. It would appear likely that he was continue to refrain from attacking if you tell him to." 

Steve considered this statement, studying the asset carefully. 

"I'm going to take you to see a doctor," he said. "While we out of this room, I order you to not attack anyone. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." 

"Will you obey?" 

"Yes." The asset would obey. The asset had to obey. 

The man with the bow pulled an arrow out of a quiver that was slung across his back. "If that doesn't work, there's always this." He detached the head of the arrow with a twisting motion and held it out to Steve. "Fast acting sedative. Pierce the skin with the tip and it will inject it. Should take him down in about thirty seconds." 

Steve took the arrowhead, studying it carefully. It was a strange shape, like a cone rather than a normal, flat arrowhead. "Will it be effective on someone with serum enhancements?" 

"It should. I designed it to work on you." Steve gave him a look of shock and hurt, but the man shrugged and continued, "When you get brainwashed into working for the bad guys, you start to plan ahead in case someone tries to do it again. I have an arrow for everyone on the team except Bruce, and three for me." 

Steve turned his attention back to the asset. "If you try to fight or run away, I will use this on you. Do you understand?" 

"Yes," the asset answered, though it couldn't fight its handler. The orders would be sufficient, but it understood the importance of contingencies. 

It stood when ordered to and moved out of the room beside Steve, trying not to let the pain of its injuries have an effect on its movements. Showing pain was showing weakness and showing weakness was unacceptable. They reached the elevator and Steve called for a floor number, floor eight. 

"Tony has a full time medical staff in the building," Steve said. "They're used to patching up broken everything. You'll be fine." 

The asset did not require reassurance. It had been damaged before. Damage was an unfortunate consequence of some missions. It would be back to full capacity soon and in the meantime it was still capable of combat should it be required. 

The medical floor was clean and white, with staff in white coats who were ready to attend its needs. They took it into x-rays to assess the damage. The asset had been correct in its personal assessment: there was a fine crack alone one of its lower ribs and another small crack in the left cheekbone. The damage was minimal, not requiring the bone to be surgically reset. 

"The main thing he needs is time," the doctor said, addressing Steve more than the asset as she ran through the x-rays. "We can give him painkillers and its important to keep an eye on the lungs. There's a tendency to try and take only shallow breaths to avoid pain but that increases the risk of lung infection. He will have to continue to breathe deeply through the pain for the rib to heal properly. That will take longer than the cheek to recover, probably about two months." 

"Incorrect," the asset said, even though it had not been ordered to speak. 

Steve looked at it. "What do you mean?" 

"Standard healing time for broken ribs is five to seven days." 

The doctor blinked in surprise, then she said, "Actually, if his enhanced healing is anything like yours, Captain, that's probably about right. I would expect you to heal a broken rib in about a week. In the meantime, plenty of painkillers and low activity, and he should make sure to breathe deeply when he can." 

Steve thanked the doctor for her assessment and accepted a small bottle of painkillers, listening to the instructions on how they should be taken, before leading the asset back to the cell. The man with the bow had waited outside during the medical assessment and now accompanied them, armed and ready to fight if necessary. 

"Can you get us some food?" Steve said, at the door of the cell. "I don't want to leave him alone right now and the doctor said the painkillers should be taken with meals." 

"Sure thing." 

He left, and once again the asset was alone in the cell with Steve. The photographs were scattered in the aftermath of the fight, but the furniture was all as it had been before, securely locked in place. Steve began picking up the photographs. The asset waited for orders. 

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "That wasn't... I get why Tony's angry, I really do, but it's not your fault. What happened, what they made you do all those years, it wasn't your fault." 

There was no question that required an answer, so the asset remained silent. 

"Maybe I'd have reacted the same if I'd found out someone had killed Ma but you're not... you're not responsible. Tony will see that. It just might be tough for him to be around you because of this. He forgave Clint for trying to kill us when Loki brainwashed him, so I'm sure he'll come around with you. Eventually. For now, I'll just keep you away from him." 

Steve set the last of the photos on the table. He looked at the asset. 

"You should sit down." 

The asset moved to the chair by the table and sat. 

"This isn't how I want this to go," Steve said. "I don't know what I expected. I guess some part of me thought I could say the right word and you'd remember me and be magically back to who were before. You don't remember me though, do you?" 

That was a question. It required an answer. 

"You're Steve." 

There was a flicker of hope on Steve's face, but it was gone an instant later. 

"You only know that because I told you. You don't actually remember anything from before, do you?" 

"No." 

Steve sank into the chair across from the asset. He dragged a hand over his face, seeming suddenly tired. The asset wondered if he was still suffering from the effects of the injuries the asset had caused. It was likely, and the fight with Tony had probably exacerbated the injuries. He should take one of the painkillers in the little jar, but the asset could not tell him that. The asset could not give instructions to a handler. 

"I don't know how to fix you," Steve said. That wasn't a direct question but it was a request for information. 

"I will be healed in five to seven days with no further medical intervention required," the asset informed him. 

"That wasn't... I didn't mean your bones. I meant what they did to your head. I don't know how to fix that, to make you Bucky again." 

The asset didn't have information on that subject so it remained silent while Steve sat across from it and looked like he might start crying. This was not new information. This was what Steve wanted and he had expressed that before. He wanted the asset to be James Buchanan Barnes. He had made that clear through reactions and questions, but now it was stated clearly and that registered with the asset in a way it hadn't before. It was the mission objective. The asset accepted the mission objective, even though it was different from previous mission objectives, but it didn't have a plan for how the objective could be achieved and Steve didn't have a plan to give him yet. The asset would have to wait until Steve had a plan and could issue more specific orders. 

It was still sitting silently when the door opened and the man with the bow returned, now carrying a large paper sack that smelled of food. 

"I wasn't sure if he should be chewing with the whole face fracture thing," he said, "so I went for soup." 

"Thanks, Clint." 

Steve took the paper sack and unloaded plastic containers of soup. One smelled of chicken. Steve looked at that with a grimace. 

"I'm not sure I can take any more chicken broth," he said, pushing the container towards the asset. Steve was applying the chicken broth protocol to the asset. That was appropriate, given the recent injuries. The asset assessed its personal status and found hunger, so it took the container of soup and the spoon that was offered to it. It began to carefully drink the soup. There was pain in its cheek whenever it moved its jaw to eat or speak, but the pain was manageable. It wondered if it should inform Steve of this, when Steve shook a small pill from the jar of painkillers and set it down beside the asset's container of soup. 

"Take it," Steve said. The asset obeyed and then continued eating the chicken broth. It wasn't certain when it would start to feel the effects of the painkiller. Painkillers were not standard procedure.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm giggling to myself in anticipation of the comments as I post this. That should probably serve as some sort of warning for this chapter.

The day after the fight, the asset woke from sleep and tended to its bathroom needs before returning to the mattress to await orders. Within twenty minutes, the door opened and Steve came in with two plates of food. He set them on the table and sat down. The asset assessed for hunger and then went to the table to sit across from Steve despite receiving no orders to do so. Steve smiled a little at this, so the asset judged it had behaved correctly. The two plates were in the middle of the table, not assigned to either of them. Both contained bacon, eggs, and tomato, but on one of the plates, the items had been arranged to make the shape of a face, with the eggs as eyes, the tomato as nose, and the bacon curved into a smile. 

"Which do you want?" Steve asked. 

There was no nutritional difference between the portions. The only difference was in presentation. This was a test. The asset was uncertain as to the purpose of the test. Was it supposed to pick the shape of the face to show an interest in human expressions? Was it supposed to pick the one without the face to show that it was serious and didn't need frivolous decorations? Was it supposed to allow its handler the plate which had been decorated? 

It had no need of the face image. Perhaps Steve did. 

"That one." It indicated the plate with no face. 

Steve nodded and pushed that plate towards the asset. The asset was still uncertain if the choice had been the correct one. 

This meal, it was allowed to use a plastic knife and fork. The asset wondered if this meant it would be allowed its weapons back soon, if this meant a step back towards the combat missions that were its purpose. It picked up the cutlery and began to eat, noting the pain in its cheek as it did so and the constant stabbing in its ribs only when Steve pulled out the jar of painkillers and set one on the table beside the asset's plate of food. 

"I thought we could watch a movie this morning," Steve said. "I have a long list of everything everyone thinks I need to catch up on. I figured you've probably missed as much as I have so we could watch one of them together. What do you think?" 

The asset wasn't certain what the correct response should be. It said, "Ready to comply," because that was usually the correct response in times of uncertainty and this related to a future activity. From the expression on Steve's face, it wasn't the correct response. He seemed to accept it though because he continued talking. 

"There are apparently several movies that go together and the chronological order of the story isn't the order in which they were released, so there are lots of different opinions about which order to see them in. The majority consensus seems to be to start with the fourth one. Some people told me not to bother with the first three at all." 

They moved over to the couch and Steve told the disembodied Jarvis voice to start playing Star Wars. 

The asset watched the screen, a little uncertain as to what it was watching. The footage appeared to show space ships. The uncertainty increased as the footage continued, showing fighting and artificial lifeforms and strange creatures. What was it meant to do with this information? Was it supposed to remember this, the way it had been meant to remember the footage of James Buchanan Barnes? That seemed unlikely, given Steve's comments earlier. 

The asset watched the screen because it had been ordered to. Beside it, Steve alternated between watching the screen and watching the asset. 

"What did you think?" Steve asked as music played and text began scrolling on the screen again, giving long lists of names. 

"Uncertain," the asset said. 

"About what? You're not sure if you liked it?" 

"What is the purpose of the film?" the asset asked. 

"The purpose? It's a movie. They're supposed to be fun. They tell stories and people enjoy watching them." Steve had the distressed expression on his face again. "Did they make you forget about fun?" 

"Fun is unnecessary." It knew the word, knew the definition, but knew that it didn't apply to its existence. Fun was something people did. Not assets. 

"Fun is... fun is what makes life worth living. It makes people happy. It's... it's important. It's very important. They... they stole this from you like they stole everything else. I wish I could make you happy again. I just want you to be happy like you used to be." 

Steve wanted the asset to be happy. The asset considered its knowledge on the subject. It changed its expression, bringing the edges of its lips up. That caused a significant increase in the pain in its cheek, but that was irrelevant if this was a step to achieving the mission objective. The asset looked at Steve, this new expression on its face. Steve seemed even more distressed. 

"That looks terrifying," he said. The asset let its face fall back into its usual state. It was unsuccessful at smiling, unsuccessful at being happy. It waited for Steve to initiate punishment protocols for failing to achieve a mission step. While it waited it considered options for training in this new skill. There was no mirror in the bathroom, but the screen of the television was reflective when it was dark. When the screen was off, the asset would be able to practice making the smiling expression until it was no longer terrifying, until it was suitable to satisfy Steve. 

"There are other things you can watch," Steve said. "Jarvis has a whole catalogue of films and TV shows and things like that. If you want to occupy your time when I'm not around, Jarvis can give you some things to entertain you. You can figure out what you like." 

It wasn't phrased as an order but the asset understood it to be one. Steve wanted the asset to be entertained. Steve wanted it to be James Buchanan Barnes, and the person that had been had presumably experienced fun. This was a step to achieving the mission objective. 

"What did James Buchanan Barnes like to watch?" the asset asked. It waited for correction for speaking without permission, perhaps not full punishment but a slap or a punch would be expected. Steve just stared at the screen thoughtfully. He made no move to hit the asset. 

"We didn't really watch anything," Steve said. "We couldn't afford to go to the movies often and we definitely didn't have a TV. There's a lot more to watch these days than there used to be. You liked music. We had a record player and you used to go dancing every chance you could get." 

"I could play a selection of popular music from the early 1940s," announced Jarvis. Steve smiled a little. The asset watched the expression, studying it to that it could mimic it later for training. 

"Yeah," Steve said. That would be nice. 

The screen went dark, cutting off the list of names. A moment later, music began playing. The asset waited to be asked if it remembered the song, but the question didn't come, just the music. A voice sang about a girl who apparently didn't like the singer. The singer was upset about this. The asset listened to the words, wondering if there was meant to be more meaning to the message because this was an inefficient way of providing the information. But it was like the movie, without purpose except fun. The asset was supposed to smile at this because James Buchanan Barnes would have smiled at this. There was a moment of indecision while the asset considered attempting to mimic Steve's small smile now, but it decided that doing so without practice would be recognised as false and then it would be punished for deception. 

The music faded out and another song began. This singer was happy because his girl was the most beautiful girl. The rhythm of the music was faster and Steve started swaying a little in time to it. 

"You used to love this one," Steve said, smiling again, just a bit. The asset listened to the song and wondered if it should ask for instructions on how to love something, so that it could better learn how to be what Steve wanted it to be. 

The song changed again and then again, and Steve no longer smiled. He seemed to be getting more distressed that the asset wasn't responding to the music. Was the asset supposed to sway in time to the rhythm? That seemed an ineffective use of energy. 

During the fifth song, Steve's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of a pocket and checked the screen. 

"Sorry," he said. "I've got to go. I've got to give a statement about DC. I'll be back as soon as I can. Will you be alright alone?" 

"Yes," the asset answered. 

"Ask Jarvis if you need anything." 

He left the room. The music continued playing. 

Once it was alone, the asset stood and moved closer to the dark screen that had shown the movie earlier. Its reflection showed well enough for its purpose so the asset attempted to copy the small smile it had seen on Steve's face, the little twitch upward of the corners of the mouth, lips remaining closed together. It let its features fall back into neutral and then tried again, adjusting the duration of the uplift of the corners, the height, the tightness of how the lips were pressed together. It achieved something it thought would not be classed as terrifying, though it didn't look especially happy. 

The asset attempted a happier smile, parting the lips to show teeth. The expression resembled a grimace of pain. It tried again, attempting to relax muscles elsewhere in the face. It tried adjusting the amount by which the cheeks pulled back. Pulling the cheeks back to widen the expression caused an increase in pain in its cheek, but the asset disregarded this. 

After some minutes of these various attempts, making small adjustments and assessing the results, Jarvis spoke up. "If you particularly enjoy a song, you can let me know and I can weight it so that the randomised sorting algorithm plays the song more frequently." 

Did Jarvis believe the smiling practice were an indication of enjoyment? The asset accepted this as a success. It did not respond though, since it had been told to only speak to Jarvis if it needed something. 

"I can rate the songs between one and five," Jarvis continued. "One is the lowest rating and five the highest. If you like a song, that would be a four, and if you particularly like it, that would be a five and I will play the five-rated songs most frequently. If you dislike something, you can rate it as a two to have it played less frequently or as a one if you do not wish me to play it at all. A level three rating will not change the frequency of playback. If you do not express a preference, I will default the rating to three." 

By the time Jarvis had finished this explanation, the song had changed again. The asset said nothing. It continued practicing smiling at its reflection. After a time, it refilled the cup with water and drank then it returned to practicing smiling. It said nothing to Jarvis about the songs and the rating numbers. 

The song changed again, returning to the one that had played earlier, the one that Steve had said James Buchanan Barnes had loved. A dilemma rose in the asset. Should it rate this song? The mission objective was to be James Buchanan Barnes and he had loved this song, so it was in line with the mission objective that it should also love this song. The asset could love this song by rating it as five. Rating the song would be progress in the mission. 

But it had not been ordered to rate the songs. Acting without orders was not acceptable. If it rated the song, it would be punished for performing an action without permission. 

But would it be punished for not rating the song? It was supposed to be James Buchanan Barnes and leaving the song to be rated neutral by default was not in line with that goal. If it left the song rated as neutral, it would be punished for not being who it was meant to be, for not being happy, for not loving the song that James Buchanan Barnes would love. 

The two opposing ideas warred inside it. Both would result in punishment. Both options were failure. It did not know which failure was worse and the uncertainty rose inside it like pressure building inside a system that could not contain it. It knew that this uncertainty would remain as long as this song continued playing, and would return as soon as it was played again. It would be played again, based on Jarvis' information. The asset would hear the song and would be caught in this trap between two wrong options. It could not concentrate on its task of practicing being happy because this battle was being fought inside its head over the song. It's only options were to face punishment for one thing or for another and it did not know which option was the correct one. 

The asset needed to know. 

"One," it said, voice barely more than a whisper. The song cut off mid-word. 

"Preference updated," Jarvis said. A new song began to play. 

The asset had failed. It would be punished on both counts. It would be punished for acting without orders and for not being James Buchanan Barnes. This knowledge ought to be distressing, but it bought a strange calm. Now the asset would know. It would know which punishment was worse, which action was to be most avoided. It would have the information not to get stuck in indecision next time. 

Muscles relaxed that it had not noticed grow tense and it returned to the happiness practice, finding the expressions coming a little more easily now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a post on Tumblr ages ago where someone had mapped out Sam's running route from the start of Winter Soldier to point out that there was no logical way that Steve could keep passing him... unless he was deliberately doing it to mess with Sam.

The asset turned to face the door when it opened, but it wasn't Steve who entered. Sam and Clint walked in, carrying more food, a large plate of sandwiches that Sam set down on the table. The asset stood there, watching them enter while the music continued to play in the background. 

"Steve's session is taking longer than he'd hoped," Sam said. "He asked us to check that you're alright. Is everything alright?" 

The asset stood there silently. 

"You're allowed to talk to us, you know." When the asset didn't respond, he continued. "You can eat, right? We thought you might be hungry, if your metabolism's anything like Steve's." 

The asset knew it could not eat now. It had been told to eat when its body needed sustenance, but if it ate the sandwiches now, it would appear that it was responding to an instruction from someone other than an authorised handler. That was unacceptable. That would merit punishment. But if it did not eat the sandwiches when it required sustenance, that was disobeying a direct order. That was worse. Perhaps it should eat the protein bars that Steve had brought and leave the sandwiches, but that was potentially wasteful. The protein bars would last longer than the sandwiches would and it might be corrected or punished for eating food that would last instead of the food that would perish. 

It considered, weighing the options. 

The sandwiches were the better option, it decided, but it would wait. Its body's need for sustenance was not urgent. It could wait until fifteen minutes had passed from the suggestion to eat, so that it would be clear it was operating based on its body's needs, as per its instructions, and not the words of these people. It began a silent count until it would be safe to eat. 

"I want you to know that you're safe here," Sam said. "I know that must be difficult to believe, especially after what happened with Tony, but he's had a chance to cool down now. We're not going to hurt you. Steve just wants to help you and as Steve's friends, we want to help him do that. Do you understand?" 

The asset did not understand. The statement made no more sense than when Steve had said something similar. Of course it would be hurt. It was a weapon and weapons were made to be hurt. It was a weapon that was currently malfunctioning, which would require correction. Correction always hurt. It had broken protocol and accepted a handler without the proper authorisation codes. That would mean punishment. Punishment hurt more than anything else could ever hurt. It had gone against mission protocols and disliked something James Buchanan Barnes had liked. 

The punishment for that would be extreme. 

There was a long silence during which the asset continued its silent count. Then Clint said, "The food's not poisoned." 

He reached out and took a sandwich from the pile, biting into it in demonstration. That was another suggestion to eat from a person the asset was not authorised to obey. It reset its count back to zero and began again. 

"Look," said Clint, "I know I can't fathom what you've been through, but I can understand it at least a little bit. A while ago, we had this problem with a guy who wanted to basically take over the world. He had this staff that let him get inside my head and control me. I turned against my friends, fought people I care about, and nearly helped him complete his plan. It was only a few days for me, so I know that what you've gone through must be a million times worse, but I get how much it sucks to not have any control over your own actions. If you ever need to talk, I'm here." 

The asset let the words wash over him as irrelevant, except for noting the fact that this man's previous act of betrayal might be used to turn him against his allies, or his allies against him, should the asset need to take these people down. 

Sam and Clint exchanged a look. The asset continued to stand there, non-responsive. 

"Is he actually aware of what we're saying to him?" Clint asked. 

"I'm pretty sure he is. He could probably snap us both in two in a heartbeat if someone told him to, but right now he's latched on to Steve and only responding to him. I've had a few classes on combat psychology and trauma support; this is way more than I know how to handle." Sam looked at the asset again. "Sorry. We shouldn't be talking about you like you're not here." 

The asset didn't understand why he was apologising. People always talked about the asset as though it couldn't hear them, couldn't understand record every word. 

There was another silence. After some minutes, Clint decided to start talking again, directing his attention sometimes at the asset, sometimes at Sam. He was telling a story about Steve which had Sam nodding and laughing, making noises of agreement about how much of a jerk Steve could be and how no one believed it. 

"Everyone acts like he's this perfect golden boy," Sam agreed, "but the first time I met him, he was trolling me while jogging. He kept running past me going, 'on your left' like it was nothing. But it wasn't like I was doing circuits of a pond or something, where it would make sense to be lapped. No, I have my own jogging route through DC and he still kept 'lapping' me, so the only way it makes sense is that he was doing it deliberately and kept figuring out which direction I'd gone in and looping back around just so he could pass me again to mock me." 

"Oh that's nothing. Tony got him a tablet and showed him how to use social media and for weeks afterwards, he would keep coming up to Tony going, 'Someone on the internet used this phrase, I'm not sure what it means,' with the most perfectly straight face and ask Tony to explain and it was always the crudest, sexual thing you could possibly imagine and Steve would look so innocently confused through the whole spiel. Or he would ask for a translation of an acronym full of the letter f and Tony was horrified at the thought of saying fuck to Captain America. Tony decided he needed to put some filters on the tablet to prevent poor, innocent Steve being traumatised by the horrors of the internet but when he tried, he found out that Steve was deliberately looking for these terms because he found it hilarious to watch Tony's face as he tried to explain them but all the while he looked like butter wouldn't melt." 

Sam nodded. "He can pull off the innocent expression way too well." 

Clint started to say something else, but the asset had reached the end of its silent count. It moved towards the table and the two men tensed, backing up a step, looking ready for a fight. The asset picked up a sandwich and began to eat and the two men relaxed slightly, though both still looked like they might attacked. The asset held itself in readiness for combat while it ate the sandwich. 

There was a minute of silence then Clint cleared his throat. 

"So, Bucky," he said, "you must have some good stories about Steve. Feel like sharing?" 

The asset finished the first sandwich and picked up a second. 

After a minute, Clint prompted again, "I bet when he was little he could get away with everything because no one thought he could possibly be a troublemaker." 

The asset ate the second sandwich. 

"It's OK if you don't remember," Clint said. "You can't help what you do or don't remember. I know Steve is pushing you to remember but it's fine if you don't. We don't mind either way and I'm sure Steve would rather you be happy."

The asset finished the second sandwich. 

Clint looked to Sam, seeming to ask for help with his eyes. 

"I know you've talked to Steve," Sam said. "You're allowed to talk to us. You're allowed to talk to anyone you want. Steve isn't going to be upset with you for talking. You're not with Hydra anymore so you don't have to follow all their rules." 

"Yeah," Clint agreed. "You're free now." He glanced around at the cell, with the second half that could be sealed away and the furniture that was all secured so that it couldn't be used as weapons. "Freeish." 

The asset didn't respond. It considered the plate of sandwiches. It was uncertain when it would next be provided with sustenance and it wished to be prepared in case it was expected to endure combat or punishment. While further nutrition was not required at this point, it was best to be prepared. The asset picked up another sandwich and began eating. 

Clint and Sam attempted further communication, but their efforts were awkward and full of pauses. Clearly neither was certain about what to say. The asset was certain it should not say anything. Bucky Barnes might have said something but even trying to be him was too big of a risk if it meant doing things it had not been told to do. It was entirely possible this was a trap and it was already awaiting punishment for the rating action. It would say nothing unless Steve told it that it was allowed. 

At one point, Sam got a jar of painkillers out of his pocket and set a little pill on the table beside the plate of sandwiches, suggesting the asset take it. The asset ignored the pill. It had been authorised to eat as its body required, but painkillers had not been included within that authorisation. The burning in its rib with every breath and the ache in its cheek that was exacerbating by the chewing of the sandwiches were both irrelevant. The pain would not diminish the asset's combat effectiveness so a painkiller was not required. It had not been ordered to take one by its handler therefore it would not take one. 

It ate most of the sandwiches though and twice went into the bathroom to refill the cup with water and drink. 

"I guess it's good you feel comfortable turning your back on us," Clint said, while the asset ran water into the cup. It was not concerned about their presence behind it. It could hear if they moved and be prepared to defend itself if required. It was not concerned about these two at all. Their current actions were irrelevant so it would continue to disregard their presence until Steve could return again. Only Steve was important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, the next chapter will be less evil. Not _happy_ but, you know, less heartbreaking. Or maybe just heartbreaking in a nicer way. :)


	12. Chapter 12

The asset sat on the mattress, facing the door. It had been awake for approximately ten minutes when the door opened and Steve walked in, leading the asset to believe that Steve was monitoring the asset's movement and had been waiting for it to wake. Steve was carrying plastic boxes and paper plates, which he set on the table as he smiled at the asset. 

"Good morning," Steve said. "Sorry about leaving you yesterday but there are a lot of government enquiries happening about the mess in DC and Hydra infiltrating SHIELD, so I needed to explain my side of the story. We kept you out of it." 

The asset remained silent, waiting for orders. Steve looked at him and frowned. 

"You're allowed to use the shower, you know," he said. "When I said you could use the bathroom, the shower was included. There's clean clothes and towels in the drawers." He indicated the set of drawers that the asset had not even opened. "They're for you to use. Everything in this room is for you to use and you won't get in trouble for doing so." 

This wasn't phrased as an order but the implication was clear. Steve wanted the asset to shower and change clothes. The asset was still wearing the clothes it had acquired for its sub-mission to the hospital and it had not been cleaned since the fight in the helicarrier and the retrieval of Steve from the river. The asset had not paid attention to its body's cleanliness but it was likely it was unpleasant for Steve to be around. 

The asset stood and went to the drawers, opening up the first of them to reveal neatly folded t-shirts and sweatpants. Another drawer revealed underwear and socks. The third contained the towels. The asset removed a clean item of each sort from the drawers and went through into the bathroom. It stripped off the clothes it had been wearing and stepped under the shower head. A warm flow of water began automatically, the temperature registering in the asset's mind as surprising. It had not anticipated warmth. 

It used soap from the dispenser to wash its hair and body, cleansing the dirt of the river and combat from it. It was strange to perform this task without guards watching, without handlers blasting it with cold water from hoses. This way was preferable. This way, it could ensure that every part was clean instead of just making do with the level of cleanliness provided by wherever the hose hit its skin and there was no risk of bruising from the more gentle flow of water that came from above. The warm water did not make its muscles ache the way the cold had, so it would be better prepared for immediate combat following a warm shower. 

The asset was not allowed to criticise a handler, even a previous one. It felt that there should be punishment for the contents of its thoughts, but it could not stop the thought anyway that this was better than the procedures of its former handlers. Preference was a new concept to it but it was there nonetheless. It preferred belonging to Steve. 

It emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed in the fresh clothes, its hair damp around its shoulders despite the careful use of the towel. It was not certain what to do with the former clothes. There was a place on the wall to hang the towel, but no place for the dirty clothes. It carried them out in a folded bundle and wondered if it should put them in the drawer, but that felt like it might contaminate the clean clothes. 

"Leave those by the door," Steve told him. "I'll take them for laundry when I go." 

The asset obeyed, even though Steve cringed after he'd uttered the words. 

"Sorry," Steve said. "I'm trying not to give direct orders but I might mess up sometimes." 

The asset didn't understand why Steve wouldn't give orders. That was what handlers did. Handlers gave orders and the asset obeyed. Once the clothes were deposited by the door, it surveyed the table, which was now covered in paper plates. Each plate had a number of items on it, small pieces of food items, each no more than a mouthful or two, carefully arranged. 

"Jarvis told me about getting you to give preferences for the music," Steve said. 

The asset tensed, waiting for the reaction. Would Steve administer correction here or would he take the asset for full punishment? 

"I thought we could use the rating system for other things," Steve said, "like food and films and anything else we do. You can let me know whether you like it and Jarvis can remember that so we can do the things that make you happy. We can start with food." He waved a hand over the table. "You try things and give them a rating between one and five, and we can use that to give you meals you like. If you want to." 

The asset was not certain how this was suitable correction for its behaviour, but it would not question its handler. It reached out and picked up a small piece of apple from the nearest plate. It put the fruit in its mouth, chewed, and swallowed. It was uncertain how to assign ratings. The apple was not damaged. It provided low levels of energy but important vitamins. It was relatively portable but could still be damaged by rough handling, which was likely to occur on a mission. There were many factors to consider and the asset did not know which should take priority, but Steve was looking at it for an answer. It didn't want to give another incorrect reply so soon after yesterday's mistake. 

"Three," the asset said. Steve nodded, smiling a little, and the asset took that to mean it had assessed correctly. 

The asset took the next piece of fruit. 

"Three." 

And the next. 

"Three." 

By the eighth neutral score, Steve was starting to look frustrated, but he didn't say anything and so the asset did not know how to adjust the ratings. 

Then it picked up a piece of banana and put it in its mouth. The taste was wrong. It could not have defined what made it wrong or what right should taste like, it only knew that this was incorrect. The banana was defective in some way. The asset chewed carefully, trying to gain understanding but failing to do so. The flavour was not what it should be. Confusion filled its mind as to what was causing this interpretation but there was only one rating that could be given. 

"One." 

Steve was smiling. "Bananas taste weird now, right?" 

"Yes." 

"Thank you! Nat looked at me like I was talking gibberish when I tried to explain it but modern bananas taste wrong. It's all of them. I've tried buying bananas from it feels like fifty different places and they all taste weird. It's so good to get validation." 

Steve was smiling as he spoke, the words rapidly pouring out of him. The asset wasn't sure if Steve was happy because the asset had chosen a non-neutral rating or because it was the opinion James Buchanan Barnes would have had, but it was good that he was smiling. Smiling meant that the mission was proceeding successfully. Mission success meant no punishment. 

"Five," the asset said. 

Steve's smile froze. He looked puzzled. He looked at the plates, possibly trying to calculate what the asset had just eaten. 

"What's five?" he asked. 

The asset wondered if it had miscalculated, but Steve had said that they could use the rating scale for anything either of them did. It raised its flesh hand to point towards Steve's face and forced its own face into a mimicry of the smile, ignoring the increased pain in its cheek this caused. 

"Five," it repeated. 

"Smiling," said Steve. "You like that I'm smiling?" 

"Yes." 

"Aw, Buck..." Steve was blinking rapidly again. "I... I want to hug you, Buck. Is that OK?" 

"Yes." 

The asset stood and allowed Steve to come to him. Steve put his arms around the asset and the asset's body moved, acting on some protocol awakened by the movement. It brought its arms around Steve, pressing their bodies together. It did not feel like other times hands and arms had held the asset. It did not feel like restraint. It felt warm. It felt... like a high rating... except... 

Like the banana, some whisper of a thought informed the asset that this was not correct. There was something in error about this gesture. Its arms were not in the right position. The arms around its back were too high. The body its arms were holding was too broad, too large. It wasn't correct. Its face twisted into a new expression without intention, features pulling into a frown on their own. 

When Steve stepped back, his cheeks were wet, and he looked at the asset's face with concern. "What is it? What's wrong?" 

The asset did not know how to answer this question without appearing to criticise its handler, which was not acceptable. It tried to find a way to phrase the words but the longer it went without answering, the stronger the compulsion to say something grew. It needed to answer the question and it would accept the punishment for the implied criticism. 

"You felt too big," it said. 

"Too big?" Steve's voice was shaking with emotion but the asset didn't think it was anger. It tried again to phrase the statement. 

"The position of the hug... it felt... I was expecting someone smaller." 

"Oh, Buck." 

Steve reached out a hand and rested it on the asset's flesh arm, fingers warm against its skin. That felt wrong too, too big. The hand should be smaller. 

"I used to be smaller," Steve said, "a lot smaller. They did an experiment and it made me stronger and healthier, and it made me bigger too. About time something did." He gave a little smile. "My mom was always telling me I'd grow into things and I guess it finally happened in the end." 

There were images in the asset's mind, ghosts of voices murmuring in its thoughts. A voice said, "You'll grow into it," in many different tones, sometimes sharply to cut off criticism, sometimes softly, reassuringly. Clothes, cast-offs of Bucky's or bought from other neighbours or acquired by various means which were not discussed openly. 

There was a pair of shoes, nearly new and too good a bargain to miss since the old pair had a hole in the sole and these were well-made leather. But they were too big, sliding around on too-small feet and giving blisters. They needed something to fill the space, to add padding. Something cheap and easy too find. 

"We put newspapers in your shoes," the asset said. 

It hadn't been asked a direct question so speaking was inappropriate, but it was expected to remember being James Buchanan Barnes. It judged that Steve would want to know that it had remembered something. It wondered if it had judged incorrectly when Steve started crying again, but he pulled it into another hug, squeezing tightly enough that it felt a sharp increase in the pain in its rib, but it did not push away. The warmth, the arms around him, the way Steve pulled him in... those were all positive factors and the positive factors outweighed the pain. 

"Four," the asset said into the hug. It was not a five. Steve was too big for it to be five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets not one hug but two. :) 
> 
> Long overdue. 
> 
> I'm jumping on the bananas bandwagon this fandom has going on, and this is the best explanation I could think of for why anyone would wear newspapers in their shoes.


	13. Chapter 13

There were no new memories. The asset was given authorisation to speak to those other than Steve but it remained uncertain of what was appropriate to say when they came to visit it. It was given instruction that it could use the items in the room however it wished and provided with books and puzzles to occupy it if it wished. The asset calculated the best approach to achieving mission success and asked Jarvis to display biographical information of James Buchanan Barnes on the screen. The asset read the information provided, watched the video footage from the Howling Commandos again, listened to interviews from the other Commandos. 

It knew facts about the man's life, committing them to memory in a careful catalogue. The asset adjusted its internal reference to think of the man as Bucky, using the name Steve gave for him. There were so many names. The asset was not used to having a name. It wasn't sure how to have one, how to be Bucky, but it studied the videos, learning the movements. It could tilt its head the way Bucky had, smile like he had. 

It tried to use these movements when Steve came to see it and was rewarded by another hug, but the asset felt it was not making enough progress at this mission. It could recite the facts about Bucky but did not feel it could adequately pretend to have the memories associated with those facts. It needed to act and it was not sure of the best way too act. Its body was now healed from its injuries but it was not put back into combat. It was concerned its physical condition might deteriorate from all this time confined. 

It wondered if it was allowed to deal with this. Other matters of physical well-being had been left to it to decide about, like when it would eat and when it would use the bathroom. Was it expected to maintain combat readiness under its own initiative too? 

If the asset was incorrect and attempted to maintain fitness without authorisation, then it would be punished. But if it failed to maintain combat readiness, it could fail in a mission and be punished for that. It considered the two possible punishments and decided in favour of maintaining combat readiness because mission failure was unacceptable. It needed to be ready to fight. 

The asset got up that morning and, after using the bathroom as authorised, began a set of press-ups. 

It had reached the count of seventy-three when the door opened and Steve walked in. The asset got to its feet, waiting to be told if it would be punished for this. Steve was carrying breakfast. He did not immediately talk about the asset performing physical maintenance without permission. He set the plates of toast and scrambled eggs down on the table and sat, indicating that they should eat. The asset need nutrition, so it sat and began to eat the contents of one of the plates. 

"Are you in any pain?" Steve asked. He brought a hand to his side, touching around the point where, on the asset, the rib had been broken. 

"No," the asset replied. 

"You want exercise?" 

The asset needed to maintain a state of combat effectiveness. "Yes." 

"I'll take you to the gym after breakfast. You'll be able to get a better workout than you could manage here." 

That was not a question but it still felt like something that needed a response. The asset considered possible responses and decided against its usual statement of compliance readiness, since that frequently distressed Steve. 

"Thank you," it said instead. That generated a little smile from Steve. 

"You're welcome, Buck." 

After they had finished eating, Steve opened the door and gestured for the asset to follow him. They walked down the hallway and into the elevator. They ascended three floors. 

"Stark built the gym to withstand people with superpowers working out, so you don't have to worry about damaging anything. You can use whatever equipment you want in there." 

The gym was a very large space, with sections given over to different workout equipment. There was a section for cardiovascular training machines, an area for weights machines and another for free weights. There were punchbags and an area for sparring. There was a large construction of metal pipes that had a great deal of potential. The asset looked at that for a long while, but decided to start with the cardiovascular machines. It went to a treadmill and climbed on. 

It powered up the machine and adjusted the settings, building up speed to a steady run, allowing its heart rate and breathing to increase. The stretch in its muscles after the confinement was, the asset considered, "Four." 

It said the number as Steve climbed onto the machine beside it and matched speed. It had observed that Steve became happy when the asset assigned ratings to items and activities, especially when those ratings were positive, so the asset had begun giving positive ratings to activities that it would otherwise have considered neutral, the very fact the positive rating pleased Steve turning the neutral into positive. In this case, though, it's assessment actually was positive regardless of Steve's reaction. The proper use of its body after the confinement was welcome. 

"I'm glad," Steve said. "If you want to use the gym again, just ask me. You're allowed to ask for things you want. You're allowed to decide what to do." 

The asset considered this statement. It was uncertain what it wanted. It wanted to achieve mission success. It wanted to avoid correction or punishment. It wanted Steve to remain happy. Beyond that, it was difficult to know what it should want. It would have to consider this question further. 

It spent time considering while it ran. It kept its pace steady. It was capable of going faster, but there was no need to push itself to the limits here. The purpose of this session was to reset combat effectiveness following the injury and period of inactivity. It was unnecessary to wear its body out to exhaustion. That would reduce its effectiveness in the immediate aftermath of the exercise should combat be required. 

So it stopped running after an hour and moved on to the other equipment. It investigated the metal pipe construction, circling it twice, before it began to climb. It used only its arms to give its upper body a workout, and found the construction an effective challenge. Some of the pipes were hinged so that they moved under its weight. Some twisted under its grip. The asset was required to concentrate on balance as it maneuvered through the structure. It tested its agility by attempting to move through the interconnected pieces without allowing any part of its body to touch the pipes. 

This proved effective exercise, exceedingly effective, with much variety than the running. Every muscle was taut, every movement slow and carefully controlled. Every part of its body strained under the effort of careful movement, held aloft only by its arms. The grip of its left hand was becoming slick from the sweat its body was producing, increasing the challenge. The asset eased its body up through a narrow gap from below, bending its arms to raise its body and then adjusting its grip so that it could straight its arms again above the bars, lifting it higher. It brought its legs above the obstructing bars and then extended them out, straightening its body until it was held horizontal by its arms. Its shoulders burned with the strain, its core muscles clenched so tightly it was hard to breathe but this too was a positive thing, a proper use of the strength it possessed. 

"We should sell tickets," a voice said. "This is better than Cirque du Soleil." 

The asset had been distracted by the physical exertion. It hadn't noticed another person come into the gym. Now it realised its mistake. It was in the middle of the metal construction, in a difficult position for a fight, high off the ground. If it attempted to return to the ground, it would not have an unobstructed path for a jump. 

It adjusted position so that it could see the new arrival in the mirrors behind the weights area, so that it would be better prepared if it were attacked. 

It slowly lowered its legs, as though this had been part of its plan all along, to rest them against two of the horizontal poles, so that it would have better position to use its arm if this came to combat. It was likely this would come to combat, because the person who had walked in the room was Tony, who had previously tried to destroy it. 

"What are you doing here, Tony?" Steve asked. His voice was quiet, but the asset could hear him. Was Steve aware that the asset could hear him? The asset had noted that its hearing was more acute than ordinary humans. 

"Me? I live here. My name's on the deed, didn't you notice?" 

"You know what I meant." 

"Are you sure it's safe for the murderbot to be wandering around?"

"Don't call him that, and he's fine. He hasn't been at all violent except when people have been _trying to kill him_. Besides, I've got Clint's knock-out juice if something goes wrong." Steve touched the breast pocket of his shirt, where there was a lump. The asset realised that he must be carrying the sedative as a precaution. "I think he's got more reason to be concerned than you have, after what happened last time." 

"I was just thinking that if the murderbot is going to be living here, using my equipment, eating my food and all that, and since you're not going to let me put him out of his misery, we should make the most of this resource." 

"Bucky is not a resource!" Steve's voice was still quiet, but full of anger, almost a hiss. He probably didn't realise that the asset could hear. 

The asset began slowly climbing down towards the ground, keeping its movements careful so not to give away that this was a reaction to the argument. If Steve's anger continued to build, this might turn to violence. The asset might be required to defend its handler. 

"If he remembers killing my mom and dad, he probably remembers a hell of a lot more than that. Who knows what intel we could get from him? We should be interrogating him about Hydra, about their bases, their codes, who's out there that's still working for them. You want to bring Hydra down, don't you? You want to make them pay for what they did to him?" 

"You know I do, but he's not... he's been through enough." 

The asset considered this information. Steve wanted mission reports. He wanted to know what was in its head but he had refrained from asking. Why? The asset thought back over the conversations, to Steve's promising not to hurt it. Was that why he had refrained from asking? Because he thought asking would hurt the asset? 

Answering questions about Hydra would not hurt it. If answering questions would help Steve achieve his own mission goals, then it was the correct course of action. The asset was not being useful at present, it was not making progress on its mission. The asset had been told to ask for what it wanted. It decided now, it wanted to be useful to Steve. 

It dropped down onto the floor at the edge of the metal contraption and walked towards where the other two were still arguing. They fell silent as it approached. 

"Ready to comply," the asset said. 

Steve's expression was still angry, but he tried to soften it. "You finished exercising?" 

"Ready to comply," the asset said again, but it was clear Steve did not understand. It needed to be more specific. "I can provide information on Hydra." 

"Ha!" said Tony. "See, Murderbot's on my side." 

"Stop calling him that!" Steve snapped at Tony. Then he asked the asset more gently, "Are you sure about this?" 

"I am sure. I can provide useful information." 

"Great," said Tony. "I've got a meeting room set up upstairs. I'll call Nat; she's going to want to be in on this." 

He started walking out. Steve looked at the asset again. 

"You're really sure about this?" 

The asset gave the sad smile it had been practicing, the one it thought was the most effective. "Five." When that didn't have the correct impact, it remembered the words it had heard Tony use that Steve had agreed with and echoed them back. Steve wanted the asset to want things, to make decisions about what to do. It could decide to want this because Steve wanted it. "I want to make them pay." 

It was not technically a deception, since it wanted to be useful to its handler, its entire purpose was to do what it's handler wanted, therefore it wanted what Steve wanted.


	14. Chapter 14

The asset followed Steve to a meeting room up near the top of the tower. A wall of windows offered a view across the city, taking in other skyscrapers and office blocks. A polished table was at the centre of the room and the asset sat at this when instructed to. Steve sat beside him and Tony across from him, while Nat sat at the end of the table, a laptop in front of her, waiting for the information that the asset could supply. 

The asset answered questions as they were asked, not even considering the possibility of deception with its handler sitting by its side. Steve had informed it that it was allowed to talk to other people, so the asset didn't wait for Steve's confirmation before answering each question. It provided the information to the best of its ability. It didn't always have the required answers, but it could at least give something for the majority of them. It had acquired a great deal of information from prior missions and from the times between missions. The handlers and workers had often spoken freely in front of it, as though they never even considered that the asset might be able to hear their conversations, might one day be asked to repeat the information to their enemies. 

The asset offered information on encryption and security codes, both the ones it had been given explicitly and the ones it had observed others using. Nat began using these at once, tapping away at her computer, trying the codes on the files she had managed to extract from SHIELD's databases and the hidden Hydra records that they had managed to uncover as well as whatever messages she had managed to intercept. The asset provided information about other sources of communication, public message boards and forums where innocuous phrases were codes for deeply significant meanings. Nat would use these to try and predict the movements of operatives. 

The asset informed them about bases it was aware of. Some of the bases, it could provide precise longitude and latitude information for. Others it had only seen from the inside or had been transported to by others and so it could only provide descriptions, but all the information it offered was noted down carefully. Jarvis was apparently listening and recording for future analysis in case the human listeners missed crucial details. 

The asset offered mission reports from some of its assignments, but hearing that information seemed to distress Steve. Hearing of the asset's successful assassination missions were clearly the ones that caused the most distress, especially when those missions included secondary targets or collateral damage. During the mission reports, the asset noted that Tony was sending intense looks in Steve's direction, but it could not easily interpret them. The asset could do little more than provide the information as succinctly as possible in order to minimise the time spent on subjects of distress. The asset could not recall all its missions as some had been erased due to the sensitivity of the objectives, but it could recall enough. 

Even with succinct delivery, the mission reports took some time. At one point, a woman in a suit entered with a trolley of food and water. The asset accepted water, noting the roughness of its throat from so much unaccustomed talking. It ate a little at Steve's urging and then continued to provide information. 

At instructions from Tony, Jarvis displayed images of people on the meeting room's screen and the asset identified those it recognised as Hydra operatives. It could not say for certain that the ones it didn't identify were not operatives, only that it had not seen them during its time in Hydra bases. 

After some time, the questions appeared to run out and Nat started displaying the information that she had decrypted while it had been speaking. She had identified a number of communications being sent by Hydra operatives and managed to extract the messages with the asset's codes. A group were convening at a base built in a disused warehouse on the edge of New York. The group were asking if they had sufficient forces of sufficient training and experience still free and mobile to launch a mission to recover something important. As Nat displayed further messages, the asset realised that the mission was to retrieve it. 

It felt strangely cold and wondered if there was a malfunction in the meeting room's air conditioning. 

"What's this red book they're talking about?" Tony asked, reading a message asking the book to be brought to the base. The writer of the message believed the contents of the book would be sufficient to make up for any limitations in the attack force should they be able to get close enough to the target. The asset understood more of the plan than the others in the room. It understood that the plan was to use the book to turn it against its current handler, to make it the weapon that fought alongside the Hydra forces. 

The asset wasn't certain if Tony's question had been addressed at it, but it had the information and provided it. 

"Codes," it answered. "Protocols. Command words. Trigger words for transfer of handler function. Information for handlers on the management and control of the asset. Of me." 

Steve let out a long, shaking breath. "They're trying to get you back." 

The asset nodded. For some reason, it found it difficult to say the words. It didn't want to express out loud the possibility of being taken from Steve. 

"These trigger words," Tony said, "they control who can give you orders?" 

"Yes." 

"So right now, Steve's your handler and you have to do everything he says, right?" 

"Yes." 

"But if I were to read these trigger words to you, I'd have control of you? I'd be able to tell you to do whatever I want and Steve wouldn't be able to give you orders anymore?" 

"Yes." The thought brought with it that cold sensation again and the asset had a realisation. It didn't want that. The asset knew this was incorrect behaviour. It wasn't meant to choose its handler. Still, the knowledge was there. It wanted Steve to remain its handler. This was not a thought that could be expressed aloud, despite Steve's instruction that it could share information on its wants, because the asset knew that this was unacceptable. The asset did not get to decide who it wanted to obey. 

But still it wanted. 

It felt an increase of respiration and heart rate, as though it were back on the treadmill in the gym. It wanted Steve to remain as its handler, which meant that no one else could be allowed to possess the red book. No one could ever be allowed to read from the pages of the book. There was only one way to achieve that, the asset knew. It wanted to destroy the red book. 

On Tony's command, Jarvis brought up on the screen a satellite image of the warehouse where the Hydra group was based. They began discussing a plan of attack to arrest the Hydra operatives and acquire the red book. Tony seemed confident of success, since apparently the Hydra agents had been worried about their limited forces, but his confidence did nothing to ease the racing heart inside the asset. 

The asset didn't want Tony to capture the Hydra operatives. Those operatives might have memorised the codes. They needed to be eliminated not arrested, so that they could not use the codes or repeat them to others. If Tony acquired the red book, he might read the trigger words. The book needed to be destroyed. Every source of the codes must be erased, include the human sources. 

The asset knew that it was malfunctioning. It needed to be punished for these thoughts. It needed to be wiped and corrected, its mind reconditioned to an acceptable state. But it could do that after the book was destroyed. It could see to it that the codes were erased and then offer itself up for punishment. At that point, it would be impossible for someone else to become its handler. Either Steve would remain its handler or he would decide the asset was too damaged and eliminate it. Either way, it would not have to deal with another handler. That was acceptable. Even though it would certainly be punished, it was better than the alternative of being transferred to another handler. 

The asset had not known it was possible for there to be something worse than punishment, but it contemplated the possibility of a handler transfer and it knew that would be worse. It would act without orders and accept the consequences. 

The others were still talking, discussing the best approach for an attack. Steve was giving instructions for deployment of personnel, with Clint assigned as sniper to take out any that tried to run, someone called Bruce flushing out personnel on the inside, with Steve and Tony in the heart of the fighting and Nat taking out stragglers. Sam would be performing reconnaissance from the air, directing attention where it was needed. The asset listened to these plans but there was something missing from the discussions. 

"Where am I to be deployed?" the asset asked, when there was a pause in the conversation. 

There was a long pause. 

"Maybe you'd better sit this one out," Tony said. "We don't want them using those codes and having you flip sides mid-battle." 

"That's exactly what they want to do," Nat added. 

"There will be other fights, Buck," Steve said. 

The asset didn't argue. The asset couldn't argue. If the asset argued, then Steve would make his instructions clearer. Right now, Steve had not explicitly ordered the asset to remain here. He had not ordered it against fighting. Anything the asset said might lead him to clarify orders and then any action would be impossible. As it was, the asset was still contemplating going against its handler's wishes, acting in direct opposition to an implied order. That was... unacceptable behaviour. It would do it anyway. Steve wanted it to remain in the tower but it... the thought barely fit in its head... it wouldn't. 

Steve, Tony, and Nat continued the discussion of the task while the asset barely heard a word, too preoccupied with the implications of what it was planning. 

Its breathing was fast, its heart racing. There was a cold sweat on its skin and it felt a knot of tension in its guts and a pounding in its head. It felt as though it was not getting enough air, as though it were choking on the possibility of disobedience. 

Was this terror? 

It had seen terror often enough in its victims to recognise the symptoms but it had not known it was capable of feeling it. It felt like its entire body was rejecting its choice, rejecting the decision to go against its handler, trying to sweat out the unacceptable thoughts. But it must be done. Because the alternative was just as terrifying. It needed to stay with Steve and to stay with Steve it would have to oppose Steve's decision. 

"Bucky?" Steve's voice was soft, cutting through the wall the unfamiliar emotion was creating. "Are you alright?" 

How could it answer that question? It wasn't alright. It was contemplating disobedience. This was unacceptable. It was broken. It was damaged. It was defective. It needed correction. It needed... It needed Steve. 

"No," was all it said. 

It considered options, a way to achieve the unacceptable goal. It calculated alternatives, trying to think only of the steps needed to reach the end goal, of the mission it was choosing, and not what the mission meant. It needed to get to the Hydra base. That was the first step. It could not do anything else until it managed that first one. Steve had told it that it could ask for what it wanted. 

"I want to go outside," it said. "Please." 

"Of course. Let's get you some air. Talking about all this Hydra stuff must be hard." 

Steve put a hand on the asset's arm, helping it to stand. Its legs felt shaky and weak. This was a situation to be avoided. Never again could it consider acting against its handler. This would be the only time it would attempt this. 

They went to the elevator and Steve gave the command. The asset had hoped to go down, but the elevator moved upwards instead. They emerged into a wide living space equipped with soft seating and a bar. Doors opened onto a rooftop patio that overlooked the city. Outside in the chill air, breathing came more easily. The change in location did not alleviate the distress caused by the terror, but it was an improvement. Step one had been achieved. 

Now it needed to fight through the sense of revulsion deep inside it to achieve the second step to its plan. 

"Are you alright?" Steve asked again. 

The asset shook its head. What it had decided on was opposed to everything it ought to be, but Steve had wanted the asset to make choices. Bucky would have made choices, so the asset making a choice was in line with the main mission objective. Somehow, this thought made it easier to deal with the fact that it planned to commit an unacceptable act. More than that, taking this course of action would keep Steve safe. If the asset did this, then Steve would not be required to fight Hydra. He would not be at risk of injury and death. That was important too. 

The skyscrapers blurred. There was water on the asset's cheeks. It hadn't known it could cry. 

"Bucky?" 

Steve put a hand on the asset's shoulder. 

The asset moved. It whirled around Steve, grabbing him from behind, and slammed the metal hand across his mouth, clamping it shut so that he couldn't order the asset to stop. His other hand was already reaching for the lump in Steve's breast pocket, feeling the shape of the arrowhead through the cloth and twisting it, pressing the point through the material of the shirt and through the skin of Steve's chest beneath. 

The sedative was already injected before Steve could react and then the asset held him pressed into its body until it could take effect. Steve attempted to fight. He grabbed at the metal arm with a twisting motion that probably would have broken a normal wrist but that had no effect on the asset's weapon. Steve brought his elbow back into the asset's ribs, but the asset held on, despite the pain, its right arm pressing Steve against its chest as Steve struggled. Steve tried slamming his head back into the asset's face, but the metal hand limited his movements. Steve kicked at its legs. 

Either Steve was holding back his full strength or the sedative was beginning to take effect. Or both. 

The asset felt that it needed to say something, but it was uncertain what would be appropriate. It couldn't apologise because it wasn't sorry for this. It didn't regret this action, despite the water on its cheeks and the terror that clutched at its insides. It needed to say something though, in case Steve decided to put it down as consequence of this act, something to take the edge of this betrayal. 

"Thank you, Steve," the asset said, before Steve slumped in its hold. 

The asset counted ten seconds more, to make certain that Steve was truly unconscious. Then he lowered Steve to the ground, laying his head down gently to avoid any possibility of injury. It allowed itself a moment to study Steve's face before it walked to the edge of the roof patio and climbed over the fence to begin its descent to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I might need somewhere to hide after posting this chapter. :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence and some slightly suicidal thoughts.

The descent was difficult. The tower was shaped so that it widened at the top, meaning that there was an overhang for the asset to deal with as it climbed down. The sides of the building were smooth, with very few handholds. The soft-soled shoes Steve had provided for it were better for climbing than its normal boots would have been, but they had clearly not been designed for this. It had to be very cautious because a fall from this height onto hard road surface would be lethal and it had no protective gear. A fall would not be so bad. Harming itself deliberately was a cause for punishment, but there could be no punishment after death so the asset was not concerned about the possibility. It wasn't the goal though. 

The goal was to reach the ground safely. 

There was a noise of rockets and the asset saw a red and gold figure in the air. It could only see the figure out of the corner of its eye because it needed to concentrate on the climb, but it recognised Tony in his armour, using the rockets to maintain position in the air. Was he here to fight the asset again? The asset could fight back this time, but not without letting go of its holds on the wall. Fighting back would mean death. 

"Hey there," Tony said, "there's a really long fall here. How about you let me carry you back up the tower before you fall and break your neck?" 

The asset's only response was to take hold of the edge of a window frame and lower itself down another few inches, feeling for a foothold as it went. 

"If you get yourself killed, it will really upset Rogers. We don't want to make Cap cry, do we?" 

This was useful information. Tony didn't want to make Steve cry and the asset's destruction would cause that. Therefore, Tony didn't want the asset's destruction. The asset considered what this meant for its options. 

Tony hadn't attempted to take hold of it because of the risk of a fall. If the asset fought against Tony, it might plummet to the ground a long way below. But Tony could remain beside the asset for the climb and move in to take hold of it when the risk of death was significantly lower. If the asset continued its slow descent, it would result in Tony attacking it to take it prisoner and return it to the cell in the tower. The delay required for the climb would also allow Tony's allies to mobilise and the asset was uncertain how long Steve would remain unconscious. He had an enhanced metabolism so he might clear the sedative from his system quickly. If that was the case, he might be waiting at the ground for the asset, able to issue orders again and then this would have been for nothing. 

The asset needed to reach the ground quickly. 

The asset calculated options. It would need to rely on the information that Tony didn't want to upset Steve. Tony would not let the asset be destroyed. 

The asset tensed its muscles, prepared itself, and then pushed away from the side of the tower. 

Air rushed past it. The ground loomed and the asset spread its arms and legs, as though this tiny fraction of extra wind resistance could make a difference. It had just long enough to wonder if it had miscalculated and then the armoured hands caught him in mid-air and his rate of descent dramatically slowed. 

The armoured hands were tight and bruising against the asset's sides, but Tony had caught him and now the ground was a lot closer. Close enough to be non-lethal. 

The asset didn't give Tony time to adjust, time to begin ascending again. It slammed its metal fist back against the faceplate of the armour and twisted in the grip that held him, flesh hand applying leverage to one of the arms. Tony lost his grip and then the asset was falling again, trying to roll, trying to lose some of the momentum in the impact. 

It hit the sidewalk hard, the impact jolting through its entire body, bruising but not breaking. It dismissed the pain. It had no time to plan or calculate, only to act, because Tony was already diving down towards it. 

The asset ran, spotting a small window just above the ground level, too small for Tony to easily make it through in his armour. The asset dove at the window, bringing its metal arm in front of its face to protect the flesh from the shards of metal. Someone screamed and the asset landed on top of a worker whose desk had been positioned below the window in the basement office. The asset rolled free and ran, darting through the door and then freezing in the hall on the other side. 

It listened, hearing the shouts of distress from the office it had just passed through, the cries of fear and excitement outside, and the noise of the armour's rockets moving away. 

The asset returned to the basement office, ignoring the stares of the workers as it snatched a jacket from the back of a chair and a baseball cap off the head of one man. The man made a halfhearted protest but the asset pulled the cap on anyway, tucking its hair beneath it to disguise the length and pulling the front down to shield its face from any facial recognition software Tony might have in his armour. 

Hopefully, Tony would be expecting the asset to have continued on in the same direction and emerged from the other side of the building. Hopefully, he would not expect the asset to climb back out of the window it had just entered, metal hand thrust into the pocket of its stolen jacket, and walk calmly away through the New York crowds. 

Around it, people were calling out in excitement as they spotted Iron Man flying around the building. The asset kept its head low and ducked into another building. It changed jacket three times and hat once. In one jacket, it found a roll of notes so it flagged down a cab and gave the address for the Hydra base. It would normally spend more time on evading capture, but there was no time available to it. It needed to reach the Hydra base quickly because it was likely that Tony would deduce his destination when he could not follow his movements. If the asset took too long, Steve might recover from the sedative and be waiting for it at the Hydra base, might order it to stop before it could complete its objective. If that happened, then this would all be for nothing, all the distress and the disobedience would bring no positive outcome. 

The cab driver parked up a block away at the asset's command and accepted the roll of notes. The asset considered killing the cab driver. The man had seen its face, might report on its activity, but there was nothing to be gained from such a precaution. The asset would be recaptured by one side or the other no matter who the cab driver spoke to. Besides, the asset remembered Steve's reaction to the asset's intention to kill the doctor. Killing the cab driver would make Steve upset. That was unacceptable. So the asset just handed over the cash and climbed out of the cab. 

"This is way too much," the cab driver said. 

"Keep it," the asset replied. It walked away, the cab and its driver dismissed from its thoughts as no longer relevant. 

It circled the building twice, noting the chain link fence and the barbed wire on top, the security cameras on the corner of the buildings. It checked the surrounding buildings and found two sniper points, with gunmen in their nests aiming rifles at the entrances to the warehouse building. The snipers were watching for attacks on the main building, not on their own positions. 

The asset climbed the outer wall of one old warehouse and crept across the roof. The sniper didn't notice it until it was right behind him. The asset grabbed his head and snapped his neck in a quick motion. The sniper slumped dead in his spot on the roof. The asset reviewed the equipment. It left the rifle as too bulky, but the sniper also carried a handgun and a knife. The asset claimed both of these. 

It descended carefully and crept around to the second sniper position. She was a little more alert, noticing the asset in time to draw her handgun, but not quickly enough to use it. The asset was on her in an instant, slitting her throat with the knife it had taken from the other one. It took her handgun as well, tucking it into the waistband of its pants. It returned to the ground and did another circuit of the main base, checking in case of others watching from the outside. When it saw no trace of anyone else, it began its assault on the main building, recalling the blueprints that Nat had displayed in the meeting room. The building had once been a warehouse so most of the base would consist of a single room. Depending on what equipment was stored in there, the asset might not have a great deal of places to hunt for Hydra operatives. That was important. Speed was more important than strategy. It would need to be finished before Steve could get here to order it to stop. It tore the fence apart to make a hole and charged inside, running for the main doors. Those inside would have seen it approach, so it would need to be quick to stop their reactions too. 

It slammed its metal arm into the doors, smashing through reinforced wood, and fired into the room without pause. Its heart was racing again, but this felt good now. This was five. This was doing what it was made to do. It shot a guard who attempted to fire at it and then shot a scientist in the back of the head when she turned to run. It stalked into the building, looking for more targets. 

It broke through an inner door into a large space holding only a few scattered boxes and a handful of frightened people. The asset managed to shoot two before a guard leapt at it, ready for close combat, slashing with a knife. The guard got inside its range for the handgun, trying to disarm it while slashing for its stomach with the knife. The asset blocked the knife with its metal arm, focus on avoiding death at this man's hands. For this instant, it disregarded the others in the room but that was a miscalculation. Across the room, another man began to speak. The words were in Russian, the meanings tearing into the asset's head, reaching down into the core of its being. 

"Longing. Rusted. Seventeen." 

The asset twisted, still being held by the guard. It had to duck another attempt from the knife but managed to get its gun aimed in the right direction. It fired. A red dot appeared on the forehead of the man who had been speaking and the flow of words went silent as blood and brain matter sprayed out from the back of the man's head. Someone screamed but no one was speaking now. 

The thought of what had nearly happened sparked something inside the asset. New power seemed to flow into it, a fire that needed to be unleashed. It could not allow these people to say those words. It could not allow them to take it. It flung the guard off it, sending him flying into the far wall, following him with bullets that struck before the man had landed. It fired the gun again and again, taking out those in suits and Hydra black who stood trembling around the edges of the room or who attempted to bring weapons of their own into play. This was what the asset was built for. It took them all down, discarding one gun and taking up the other when it ran out of bullets. It slaughtered them all without hesitation or doubt. It was a killer, a weapon, and it would not be their weapon again. 

When the last person had fallen, the asset went to the man who had attempted to reclaim it. The book lay on the floor by his empty hand. The asset picked it up. It didn't dare look inside the book. 

The asset stalked past the bodies it had left strewn on the ground, sniffing until it identified which one smelled of tobacco and smoke. The asset crouched down over that body and patted pockets until it found a small lighter. It tore the pages from the red book and left them in a loose pile, touching the light flame to first one page and then another until the whole pile was blazing, words turning to ashes before it. It prodded the grey pile that remained, the tiny fragments of ash that stirred and floated away under its breath, and under the air movement caused by a door moving behind the asset. 

The asset stood and turned in one swift movement, aiming the gun. It froze. 

Steve stood in the doorway to this warehouse room. He was dressed for combat, his shield held in front of him, watching the asset warily. The asset lowered its gun but that didn't change the expression on Steve's face so the asset dropped smoothly to its knees. It set the gun aside and raised its hands to its head in a show of submission, lacing metal fingers with flesh ones. 

"Ready to comply."


	16. Chapter 16

The asset was back in its cell in the tower. Steve had asked whether compliance meant it would come quietly without a fight and the asset had said yes. The asset had allowed Steve to reattach the restraints that had been used on its first journey to the tower and Steve had brought it back here while his allies had searched the warehouse and examined the bodies the asset had left. The asset was unconcerned about that. It had done what was important when it had destroyed the book. Anything else in that warehouse was irrelevant. It informed Nat where to find the bodies of the two sniper-guards and Steve swore quietly, trying not to look at the bodies, before taking the asset out of the warehouse. 

Steve had apologised five times for the restraints, with one when he had attached them, three during the journey back to the tower, and one again when he removed them. The asset did not understand the reason for the apologies. It was sensible to apply precautions, especially since Steve had no way to know that the asset was not going to disobey again. The thought of attacking Steve again filled the asset with a sense of physical sickness, but Steve had to assume that one act of disobedience could be a prelude to others. Precautions were logically and expected until the malfunction could be repaired. 

Sitting on the mattress behind a wall of glass, the asset looked up at Steve, who paced the other half of the room. 

The asset waited. Steve had not taken it for punishment yet, had not wiped its mind to reset it following the malfunction. The asset wondered why he was waiting to do so. 

"Damn it, Bucky," Steve muttered after several minutes of pacing. He stopped and glared through the glass. "Why? You knew we were putting a team together. If it was so important that you were there, why didn't you say so?" 

"I did ask what my part in the mission would be and you implied I would not be there. If I had asked, you would have ordered me to stay in my cell." 

"I..." Steve gave a frustrated sigh and started pacing again. "OK. I guess you're right about that. I'm sorry. I would have told you to stay here, where it was safe, where they couldn't hurt you." 

"They didn't hurt me." 

"They could have! You went up against them alone when we had no idea what sort of firepower they had. There could have been a lot more of them. They could have killed you!" 

"Acceptable risk." 

That answer made Steve angrier, even though the asset risked destruction every time it went into battle. It was supposed to preserve its life if possible, but its death would matter less than failing a mission. 

"And was it acceptable risk when you jumped off the top of Stark Tower?!" Steve demanded. 

"I calculated that Tony was unlikely to let me die." 

"You... you knew he'd catch you?" 

"Anticipated greater than fifty percent chance that I would be caught and therefore that I would survive the fall." 

"Bucky... those are terrible odds!" Steve was still angry but there was moisture around his eyes. He wasn't quite crying but he wasn't far off. "Doesn't it matter to you whether you live or die?" 

"What matters is the mission. Survival is secondary to the mission." 

"Not to me, Buck." 

The asset understood. Tony had said that the asset's death would make Steve cry. Steve crying was unacceptable. The success of the mission meant keeping Steve from crying, so the success of the mission depended on the asset keeping itself alive. Greater than fifty percent chance of survival was not a high enough probability. The asset would use that knowledge in future calculations and only take actions where the percentage chance of survival was significantly higher. 

Steve dragged a hand across his eyes. 

"I get that you want to make them pay for doing this to you," he said, "but we have a team. We go in as a group so we can watch each other's backs, so we can look out for each other and help everyone else come through it. It's safer than going in alone. And yes, I've been a soldier, I've killed, but that shouldn't be the first choice. We were going to arrest those people but you... you slaughtered them." 

"I am a weapon." 

"You're a person, damn it! You're a person, Bucky. That's what I've been trying to get through to you. All the stuff Hydra put in your head, following orders, killing, you don't have to do that anymore." 

"I have to follow orders," the asset said. To do anything else was unthinkable. 

"Well you sure as hell didn't follow..." Steve cut himself off. Some of his anger faded and he looked thoughtful. "The first thing you did was cover my mouth. Before you even went for the sedative, you stopped me from speaking because if I told you to stop, you would have done, wouldn't you?" 

"Yes." That answer didn't seemed to do anything to reduce how much Steve was upset, so the asset added, "If you order me not to fight you again, I will have to obey that." 

That didn't help either. 

"I don't want you to not fight me because of a compulsion. I want you to not fight me because we're friends, because you don't want to fight me." 

"I don't want to fight you. You're my handler. Fighting a handler is unacceptable. Fighting a handler means punishment. I know I have earned punishment." 

Steve looked pale. He stepped away from the glass. 

"I'm not going to punish you, Buck. I... I was scared for you. When you attacked me, when Tony said you ran off... I thought something had triggered you. I thought... I thought you'd gone back to them. I thought I'd lost you again." 

"I haven't gone back to them," the asset said. "I can't go back to them." It felt something at that certainty, a positive feeling, but it didn't want to give a number rating right now because this situation was too complicated for that. Steve was upset. It was wrong to rate something as a five when Steve was upset. 

"I don't understand what's going on with you," Steve said. "I'm trying but... what they did to you... I'm trying to help you but I don't know how to help if you go running into combat on your own without any backup, without any weapons." 

"I am a weapon." 

Steve seemed to lose his words again. The asset understood. Words were difficult and complicated and hard to make align to the meaning that was behind them. 

"You're a person," Steve said again. "You don't have to kill. You don't have to follow orders. You can just... be a person." 

He trailed off. The asset waited in silence for Steve to find his words again, to figure out how to express what he was thinking. Before he could though, the door to the cell opened and Tony walked in. He seemed excited. 

"What is it?" Steve asked. 

"I was listening to your conversation and reviewing the security footage from that Hydra base and I want to try a little experiment." 

"Experiment?!" Steve looked like he might punch Tony. 

"It'll be fine. I won't even touch him." Tony turned to look through the glass at that asset and then spoke. It was a single word, the Russian pronunciation badly mangled but the word still recognisable. 

The asset was moving before Tony had finished saying that first word, on its feet and flinging itself across its inner cell. The metal arm slammed into the glass partition hard enough to make the whole thing shake, but not hard enough to break through. The asset slammed its arm into the glass again and again, throwing its entire weight, its entire strength into the motion, trying to break through. 

"Bucky, stop!" Steve ordered. The asset froze, but it glared out through the undamaged glass and tried to think of some other way to get through, some other way to stop this happening. If it took mattress stuffing and put it in its ears, would that muffle the sound enough? Could it stop itself hearing? 

"It's alright," Tony said. "I won't say the rest. I saw what you did to the last guy who tried." 

"What the hell was that about?" Steve demanded, looking furious at Tony. "Was that one of his trigger words?" 

"Yeah. That was the control, seeing how he'd react to me saying them. Now, you say it. Jarvis, display the first word." 

The screen displayed a word, written in the Cyrillic alphabet and spelled out phonetically beneath it in the English alphabet. The asset didn't look at the screen, couldn't look. It looked at Steve instead, waiting for the word. 

"I'm not going to say it if it upsets him," Steve said and the asset felt something shift inside him, a sadness bubbling free of the blankness it was supposed to feel. It wanted Steve to say the words. This was an outcome it hadn't considered. Steve hadn't said the words back in the safe house beneath the bank. He had become its handler in some other way, some unauthorised way, and there was always a chance that a former handler would appear and give new orders and the asset didn't know how it would react to that. If an old handler, one who had said the codes properly, told it to do something to hurt Steve, the asset wasn't sure how it would react, which one it would treat as handler. It was safer if Steve said the words, became its handler in the proper way. Then it wouldn't matter what anyone else might say. 

The asset had thought destroying the codes completely was the best option, but this now was better. If Steve could know the codes but no one else, that was the best option. 

The asset looked at Steve through the glass and said, "Please." 

Steve blinked at it in surprise. 

"Please what? You want me to say it?" 

"Yes. Please. Five. Ready to comply. Please." It tried to say it in every way it knew so that there could be no confusion. It wanted this. It wanted Steve as its handler. It had gone through all that, disobeyed, fought against all its instincts to get just this. For a moment, Steve just blinked at it, surprised, but he seemed to realise how important this was. He nodded. 

Steve looked at the screen, read carefully what was written there and then sounded out the first word. It was stilted and awkward, but it was said. The asset smiled. Not a practice happiness smile, but an actual smile. It waited. The display on the screen changed again and Steve said the second word, then the third. The asset waited. Steve was silent. 

"Ready to comply," the asset prompted, when Steve didn't continue. 

"Sorry, buddy," Tony said. "Those three were the only ones I could get from the security footage." 

The asset understood. One of the Hydra operatives had tried to reclaim it, had spoken those words. If there was a camera in the base with sound recording then it would have picked up the beginning of the trigger phrase, but no more than that. 

"Tony, what is going on?" Steve asked. 

"Looks like the only one Murderbot wants to honour and obey is you." Tony flashed a grin at the asset. "Am I right?" 

"Yes." 

Tony threw his arms wide in a flourishing gesturing, grinning as he did so. 

"Tony," Steve said, tone full of warning. 

"Think about that meeting. He was all calm and placid through us talking about Hydra and murder and assassinations. When did he start freaking out? When we talked about the red book and his codewords. I asked him what would happen if I read out the codewords and that's when he started showing actual human feelings. I watched the footage of his attack on the base. He killed everyone in that place and went straight for the red book and burned it. He didn't give a damn about anything in there and once the book was destroyed he surrendered without a blink and came along meek as a kitten. He wanted to make sure no one could have those codes, so no one could take him away from you." He turned again to the asset. "Am I right?" 

"Yes." Then the asset added, "I know I must be punished for trying to choose my handler." 

"I'm not going to punish you! I told you, there's no punishment, there's never going to be a punishment." 

The asset didn't understand. There was always punishment. 

"I disobeyed," it said. "Disobedience means punishment." 

"Not here. Not from me. Never from me." 

"I disobeyed." 

"Wouldn't be the first time you disobeyed me," Steve said. The asset didn't understand why that would mean lack of punishment. Surely it would mean more punishment. 

Tony said to Steve, "Nat pulled quite a lot of files about him from that base, about what they did to him. Maybe we should look at those. It might make this easier, might make it easier to understand what's going through his head right now." 

Steve hesitated and then gave a nod. "OK. Bucky, I'm going to go look at those files. Do you want anything? Do you need anything?" 

The asset considered. It wanted a shower. There was blood on it from the fighting. It needed food. It... it needed Steve to punish it so that the world would make sense again because its head was a mess of confusion and it wanted things to slip back into their familiar places. It knew that Steve would react with anger if it said that though. It considered what else it needed. 

"Reset," it said. When Steve looked confused, it continued, "I need to be reset. I'm malfunctioning. I disobeyed. I chose a handler. I fought my handler and prevented you from giving me orders. Unacceptable behaviour. I need to be fixed." 

"Bucky..." Steve took a step towards the partition glass. "Jarvis, open this door." 

The glass partition split and slid apart. The asset felt what might have been relief that the confusion would soon be over, but there was something else there, muddled up in the mess of feelings the asset wasn't supposed to experience. There was a feeling like pain but not linked to any physical part of it. What was this? Regret? Sorrow? Why would it regret being fixed? Being fixed would be better. Being fixed would make all this simpler again. That thought didn't make the regret go away. 

But then the partition was open wide enough for Steve to get through and he pulled the asset into a hug, pressing their chests together and squeezing it tightly. The asset's face was pressed into the point where Steve's neck met his shoulder and it was hit by the scent of Steve. It hadn't noticed that scent before but it couldn't help notice it now, invading its nostrils, pushing through its defences. It liked this scent. It didn't want to forget liking this scent. 

It put its arms around Steve and hugged him back, knowing that as soon as this was over it would be reset. It would lose the appreciation of the scent. It wanted to hold onto this just a little bit longer. 

"Bucky," Steve said, "you're a person, a human being. No matter what they did to you, no matter how they hurt you, you're not a machine to be fixed and rest. You're a person. Making choices, wanting to stay with someone, with me, that's a human thing to do." 

"I don't know how to be a person," the asset said. "I know how to be a weapon. I don't know how to be Bucky Barnes. I don't remember being him." 

"You'll figure it out," Steve said. "I'll help you figure it out. If you don't remember being Bucky, then I'll help you figure out who you are now, but I'm not going to make you into a machine again, not ever. No one is going to." 

The asset felt something at that. It felt fear at the fact that the confusion would continue. It felt uncertainty about how to act, how to define itself as a person. But with the fear, it felt something else, something as warm as the arms that still held him and didn't seem like they were ever letting go. It didn't have the words for the feeling but it felt it anyway. There was something good mingled with the fear.


	17. Chapter 17

The asset had a new mission. It's mission was to learn to be a person. It had information on how people acted, but it was still uncertain about how to apply that information to itself... himself. It had to reframe its assessment of itself. It was a he. It was a person. He was a person. 

Steve was treating it... him... differently following the attack on the Hydra base. The asset had told him that it... that he didn't want to leave Steve, that it had chosen to stay here. Steve was less concerned about the asset leaving, so he allowed the door to the cell to be unlocked during the day. The asset could leave the cell and walk around the tower. He could use the gym. He could walk up to the common area with the outdoor patio. There were many locked doors and floors at which the elevator wouldn't stop for him, but this was greater freedom and he was allowed it without Steve watching him. 

It didn't make sense. It... he should have been restricted further following the disobedience, following the attack on his handler. They should have taken precautions to make sure it didn't happen again, but instead they allowed him more liberties, more chances. Perhaps they were waiting to see if it... if he disobeyed again. Perhaps Steve accepted the truth that the asset would not try to leave him. 

This was trust, of a sort. The asset knew he was still being watched. Jarvis was everywhere in this building, observing his every move. Jarvis would inform Steve if the asset disobeyed, if the asset attacked anyone, if the asset tried to leave. The asset knew that the cell had just been enlarged somewhat. Steve still didn't like giving orders, but he had requested that the asset not leave the tower. A request was an order just said in a different way, the asset understood. It... he would not leave. He would stay in the tower and practice believing itself to be a person. The task was difficult. 

People made a great many choices. People were expected to choose when to get out of bed, when to shower, when to eat, as well as what to eat, what to do in the day, where to go, who to talk to, what to say. The consideration of the infinity of options was so broad that the asset was frequently overwhelmed by all the possibilities and went back to its cell where its options were far simpler. It wanted Steve to give it orders, or to present the choices to him in simple forms, but asking for orders made Steve upset. Choosing which t-shirt to wear or which food to eat was manageable. Choosing what to do with an entire day was far too much, with too many unknown variables. 

The asset knew that retreating to its cell was not the correct choice. When the asset returned and sat back on its mattress to await orders, Steve would often come to coax him out again, or send Sam to talk to him. That was easier then, because they would ask the asset if it wanted to do a specific thing, or present a shorter list of options. The asset could choose from a short list, but it knew that Steve was unhappy that the asset needed this. After a few days of the asset choosing to stay in its cell except for a brief period of exercise, after Steve sent Sam to him again because Steve was busy dealing with Hydra files, the asset made a decision. It decided to simplify the choices by choosing whatever Steve chose. If Steve chose to read Hydra files then the asset would also read Hydra files. 

Making this decision felt like the weight of a billion options was removed from the asset's mind. Thinking became clearer. The world became simpler. The world became simply Steve and that was a more reasonable focus. So the next day, when it was showered and dressed following a session of maintaining combat readiness in the gym, the asset put the choice into action. 

"Jarvis," the asset said, speaking to the computer voice properly for the first time, "where is Steve?" 

"Captain Rogers is in a meeting room on level thirty seven with Mr Stark." 

The asset considered. "Am I allowed on level thirty seven?" 

"I will check with Captain Rogers." There was a moment's pause and then the voice said, "Captain Rogers will authorise you to come to level thirty seven and join him, or he can come down to you. Which would you prefer?" 

This decision was easy because it had already been made. "I will go to him." 

"Very good, sir." 

The asset didn't know how to react to being called sir, so it ignored the word. It left the cell and walked to the elevator, the doors opening for him just as he arrived. He stood inside and let the elevator carry him upwards. When the doors opened again, he didn't have to ask which was the correct meeting room because Steve had come out of it and was waiting for him, a concerned look on his face. 

"What is it, Buck? Is everything alright?" 

The asset nodded. "I want to see the Hydra files." 

"Are you sure?" Steve looked more worried. The asset wondered if it had chosen incorrectly. 

"I want to see the Hydra files," it said again. If Steve questioned the decision again, the asset would return downstairs and try to think of a new plan for avoiding the too many choices, but the thought of trying to do that again was one it didn't want to think. It wanted Steve to take the choices away. 

"There's some really bad stuff in there," Steve said, and the asset understood that Steve was saying no without saying it directly, without making it an order. The asset knew that he was expected to comply with Steve's wishes, and Steve wished him to not see the contents of the files. The asset nodded and started to turn away, already contemplating the other ways it could spend this time and already knowing that there were far, far too many options to be properly evaluated. 

"Buck," Steve said, voice said, and the asset stopped, turned back. "I'm not... I don't want to stop you doing something you want... it's just... the files are really difficult to get through." 

"He's already lived through this stuff," Tony said from somewhere behind Steve. "Is it really going to be that much worse for him to read about it? This is the first time he's really picked something for himself that didn't involve drugging you, so maybe let him have his choice." 

"You're right," Steve said, then to the asset, "Sorry. Come in." 

"What did you say?" Tony asked, sounding excited. "Jarvis, please tell me that you got it on tape that Rogers said I was right. I want to make that my new ringtone." 

"Updating ringtone," the Jarvis voice said calmly. 

"Don't be an asshole, Tony." 

Tony just grinned. 

The asset sat at the conference table, next to the seat that had been pulled a bit away from the table and was therefore the one Steve had been using. Steve took that seat now, looking at Bucky with a sad and serious expression. 

"Bucky," Steve said, "if you want to stop at any point, if it gets too much for you, just say so." 

"Stop coddling him, Rogers. He brutally murdered half a dozen Hydra scientists less than a week ago, he's not exactly squeamish." 

Steve glowered across the table at Tony. The asset mentally assigned Tony a low rating for making Steve upset, but it didn't state this rating out loud. It didn't wish to antagonise Tony after he had invited it in to join in this meeting. 

Tony turned to the asset and said, "We've been going through the files we stole from that warehouse. There was a whole lot of material on how they conditioned you. Now, I much prefer playing with shiny grey stuff to squishy grey stuff, but to be honest the Hydra scientists who first started poking around in your skull weren't much better. I'm honestly surprised they didn't leave you permanently comatose or dead after all their brain zapping." 

"Do you have to put it so crudely?" Steve asked. 

The asset hadn't been paying attention to Tony's tone. He was looking at the images which appeared on the screen as Tony spoke, grainy scans of old cross sections of a brain, his brain. The detail was difficult to make out, but there were dark spots that didn't look like the areas around them. 

"Basically, a lot of the first part of the procedure was them shocking different bits of the brain to see what would happen. They had rough ideas that certain parts were related to memory so they started there, but the medical scanning technology of the day was so crude that it was a bit like trying to perform microsurgery with a sledgehammer. There are whole files of them interrogating you, or putting you through tests, zapping your brain, and then asking the questions and doing the tests again to see if there was a different outcome. Nat's found about sixth month's of files of that before they were satisfied you were a blank slate, ready for programming." 

"They wiped your memory, Bucky," Steve said softly. The asset had already known this from all the previous conversations. Seeing the scans of his brain was not so different from having the prior information. 

Tony continued talking. "Once they had erased your past, they started on obedience conditioning. Obey orders or get punished. Fight back and get punished. Obey the wrong person, get punished." Tony's eyes strayed to the asset's metal arm. "They had direct access to the nerves through the connections in the arm, so they could stimulate the nerves to send the pain signals of the worst pain it's possible to feel and then the stimulated parts of the brain related to processing pain to dial it up to eleven. Punishment was literally the worst pain the Hydra bastards were capable of inflicting." 

This wasn't news to the asset, but Steve paled and muttered, "Jesus." He looked at the asset. "That's what you thought I'd do to you?" 

"Acting without orders means ten minutes of punishment. Disobedience means thirty minutes of punishment. Attacking a handler means forty minutes of punishment. Attempting to stop a handler giving orders means sixty minutes of punishment." The asset could list the times of all things that merited punishment, though during the punishment the pain meant that it would lose the ability to accurately track time. Even a short punishment felt like an eternity when it was happening. 

Tony frowned. "Stopping someone giving you orders was a higher punishment than attacking someone?" 

"The asset exists to be given orders. Attempting to stop orders being given is unacceptable." 

"This is the first thing you remember, right?" Tony leaned across the table, looking excited. "Aside from whatever fragments about little Steve you've picked up since being here, this is the first thing you really remember?" 

"Yes." The first clear memories the asset had were of obedience lessons and punishment. Once the basic lessons were done, they gave him the lessons that obedience was more important than pain because no injury or correction could possibly hurt more than punishment. It elabourated, "Initial obedience lessons where punishment levels were taught, followed by obedience conditioning combined with studies of my healing factor." 

"They injured you to see how fast you would heal?" Tony said. 

The asset nodded. "And they ordered me to injure myself." 

"Jesus," Steve muttered again. 

"They taught you that obeying orders was more important than anything, more important than your own self-preservation, and they drilled into your head from your first moment of awareness that you couldn't make choices for yourself and could only obey the person they picked as your handler." 

Tony was grinning and Steve didn't seem to like that. He glared across the table. 

"Why the hell do you sound so happy about that?" Steve demanded. 

"Don't you get it? What he did shouldn't have been possible. They made this the entire foundation of his existence, built his entire personality around obeying a specific handler, doing exactly what he was told, no more, no less, and then you came along. You didn't say any codewords and somehow he got it into his head to follow you anyway. _He_ made you his handler, with no programming or authorisation or anything except his own choice." 

"A malfunction," the asset said. 

"A miracle! It shouldn't have been possible." Tony grinned at the asset. "I didn't get it. When Steve said you didn't have a choice about killing my parents, I didn't really believe it, but all of this," he jabbed a hand towards the screen where documents in Russian were being displayed alongside their English translations, "was all designed to make sure you never made a choice in your life and yet you somehow managed to choose Steve anyway. That's like one of Pavlov's dogs ringing its own dinner bell." 

"I do not understand Pavlov's dogs." 

"Pavlov was an early researcher into behavioural conditioning. It's not important. The point is, Hydra and the Soviets and whatever other bastards were mixed up in this work tried to build your entire personality about obeying their orders, ingraining this fear of punishment so deep in your psyche you wouldn't even take a shower until Steve told you to, but you still managed to choose for yourself. You deciding to destroy the book, to fight Steve, to go after Hydra by yourself, everything in these files says you shouldn't have been able to do that, but you did it anyway." 

Tony was still grinning and excited. The asset watched him silently, still unsure what this meant for his future, for his mission of being a person. The asset had known it had malfunctioned, he had gone against what it was supposed to do, but to it, that was a problem, not a reason to grin and wave arms around while talking rapidly. It didn't understand why this knowledge was so strange and exciting to Tony. It seemed Steve was also struggling to understand. 

"What does this mean?" he asked. 

"It means that while we might not be able to put Humpty Dumpty's brain back together again the way it used to be, Pinocchio might still get to be a real boy." 

Steve glared. "You think he might be able to break through his programming?" 

"That's what I just said." 

Steve somehow managed to look happy and look like he wanted to punch Tony at the same time.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is why supersoldiers should not be allowed to use google. The thing about looking for images of hands for drawing references is actually something that happened to a friend of mine.

Tony gave the asset the internet in the form of a small tablet computer. This was as horrifyingly full of possibilities at the rest of the asset's current existence, if not more so. The internet contained all the knowledge in the world and a seemingly unlimited source of entertainment options including books, videos, music, games, puzzles, educational courses, socialising applications, and probably more that the asset was too overwhelmed to have discovered yet. 

Orders were simpler. It knew what it was doing when it was given orders. It didn't know what to do with the infinity of the options the internet presented to him. 

Its plan to simply follow Steve and do what he did led to Steve becoming worried and talking to the asset about freedom and autonomy. The asset gathered through these conversations that it was acceptable to spend time with Steve for some of the day but unacceptable to spend time together for all of the day. Steve expected there to be time when he could work with Tony, Sam, and Nat and in that time the asset was expected to not be there. 

The asset considered its mission, but becoming a person was complex and involved too many variables. It narrowed its focus down. It wanted to make Steve happy. It didn't know how to do that, except by becoming Bucky Barnes which was also a task for which it was unprepared, but it had a source of infinite knowledge at its disposal. The asset sat on the mattress in its cell and set the tablet device on its lap. It went to the search interface as it had been shown and considered the question it needed to ask. 

He typed _how do I make someone happy_ and was presented with a long list of sources of information, most of which led to lists of ideas to try. 

Some suggestions were things the asset was trying to learn to do anyway. One list started with _smile_ and the asset resolved to continue its happiness practice around Steve. Some suggestions were not applicable to him. He couldn't bake cookies or prepare a favourite meal because it wasn't trusted around cooking equipment. The precaution was an unnecessary one, since he could kill most of the occupants of this tower with his bare hands, and Steve could always order him not to use the cooking equipment in a lethal manner, but the restriction remained and so those options were unhelpful to it. 

Most of the lists he found were clearly written for an intended audience of people who were not confined to a single building. He couldn't go and pick up dry cleaning for someone or acquire their preferred coffee. Even ordering pizza would not be a possibility because although he had access to the internet now, he had no means to pay for anything. 

After some searching though, and some refining of his search, he found a discussion of ways to make a man happy that wouldn't require going outside. Many of the suggestions could be applied with only the other person required, or perhaps with a bed or a couch, both of which the asset had at his disposal. A great deal of physical contact appeared to be required, but the asset had found hugs to be a positive experience so it was possible that other physical contact would be as well. 

There were many options for this as well, but the asset could refine the list through ruling out any suggestions which would require items he couldn't immediately acquire. One person's suggestion specific spoke of a preferred method for initiating physical contact which apparently worked to induce happiness in the man being described. Although another person commented that preferences varied, the asset decided that was a sensible one to start with. It could be initiated from a situation the asset frequently found himself in. He came up with a list of other suggestions to try and would see which of them was most successful in making Steve happy. 

Two hours after the asset had formulated this plan, the door to the cell opened and Steve walked in, carrying plastic bags that smelled of food. 

"Hello, Steve," the asset said, smiling in as non-terrifying a manner as it could. The first list had said that remembering people's names and offering greetings could make them happy and three different lists had included smiling as a suggestion. Despite the information provided by the internet, this didn't appear to have the desired effect. Steve took a step back and looked somewhat alarmed, but he quickly returned the smile. 

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Steve said. 

"I have been reading the internet." 

"Oh... Good. The internet is really helpful." 

"Yes." The asset was still smiling. It felt the pressure in its cheeks from the unaccustomed expression. It would have to practice this more to train the muscles in its face. 

"Just be careful what you search for. I once searched for 'fist' because I wanted to find some pictures of hands to use as references to help with my drawing and saw some photos of things I hadn't realised were physically possible." 

"Were the pictures helpful with your drawing?" the asset asked, because one of the lists had suggested asking prompting questions to show interest in an anecdote could make people feel appreciated. 

Steve seemed surprised at the question, but he smiled in a way which the asset believed meant that the internet suggestion had been correct. He gave a little laugh and a shake of his head saying, "Really, really not." 

Steve set the plastic bags on the table and began unloading plastic containers filled with food in a variety of colours. 

"I ordered half the menu from the Chinese down the block. I figured we could try a bit of everything and see what we like." 

"Thank you," the asset said. Remembering to say please and thank you had been on two of the lists. 

Steve did this a lot, giving the asset choices or trying to find out what he found a positive experience. The asset was alright with it when presented in this way, because he could move through the containers in a systematic way, applying a rating and then returning to those which it had rated more positively. It wasn't like the challenge of trying to become a person, which was too big and broad to be handled effectively. This exercise was straight-forward, so it began sampling the dishes. Most, it assigned a neutral rating to but a few it rated higher. 

It thought it had made a mistake when Steve took a taste of one dish which the asset had rated a four. Steve made a face and said, "Ugh, no." The asset waited for a correction regarding the improper rating, but Steve just pushed the dish across the table to him and said, "I guess you should finish this one." 

The asset looked at the dish. It considered the implications. 

"I can assign different ratings from those you assign," he said. 

"Of course," Steve said. "People like different things all the time. I love drawing, which you never have. You loved going dancing... The old Bucky I mean, before Hydra. You can like something I hate and vice versa. Sorry, I didn't make that clearer." 

The asset nodded. This was an important lesson in being a person. He had known that different people liked different things, but the idea of liking something his handler didn't was a foreign concept. He would have to practice with this idea somehow. 

Once they had finished eating, Steve stacked the empty containers and they went to the couch. 

"This was one Clint said we should watch," Steve explained. "He said we should see it before we see too many more recent movies so we still get blown away by the effects. He also told me that the sequels don't exist, which I think is his way of saying that there are sequels but they're really bad so we shouldn't watch those. It's something about reality not being real, so if you find the subject difficult to deal with let me know and we'll stop." 

Jarvis started playing the movie for them and the asset sat beside Steve to watch. He sat a little closer to Steve than he had done on previous occasions and Steve flashed him a little smile about that, so the asset guessed this things were progressing as expected. He had chosen his approach based on the internet research and the fact that Steve frequently wanted to watch movies together. The asset wasn't certain what was the optimal time to begin the physical contact initiation activities the last internet page had suggested because the page hadn't included that detail, but it didn't want to wait too long. He counted five minutes from when the movie had begun and then leaned over to Steve, bringing his mouth to the patch of skin on the side of his neck, just below the ear. 

Steve jumped up from the couch so fast that the asset nearly fell over into the empty space he had left. 

"What was that?" he asked. He brought his hand up to his neck, to the point where the asset had kissed. 

"I kissed your neck," the asset said. 

"Why?!" Steve looked horrified. The asset recalled the conversation they had had shortly before this, about how different people rated things differently. The suggestion maker's man had apparently rated highly being kissed in that place. It seemed Steve didn't. 

"I read suggestions on the internet for how to make someone happy," the asset said. "One was to initiate physical intimacy by kissing on the side of the neck during a movie. If you don't like that, there were many other suggestions. I have no memory of performing oral sex but the mechanics seem straight-forward." 

"You... you want to give me oral sex?" Steve sounded like he was being strangled. 

"Many of the internet pages I read suggested it could make a person happy." 

"That's... but... I... I need to go." 

Steve walked out of the room, leaving the movie still playing and the empty dinner containers still scattered across the table. The asset knew it had failed in its mission to make Steve happy but it wasn't sure how or why. The internet had let it down. The asset considered getting its tablet and beginning another search to try and understand why Steve had reacted badly to this attempt to make him happy, but if the internet had provided incorrect information once, it might do so again. 

So the asset sat on the couch and waited. Steve would provide correct information when he returned. The asset would wait until then.


	19. Chapter 19

The asset turned expectantly when the door opened but it was only Sam there, not Steve. The asset turned away, redirecting its attention back at the screen, which was now showing the end credits of the movie. 

"You don't have to watch the end credits, you know," Sam said calmly. 

"I know," the asset answered. Steve often turned the movies off when the end credits started, but Steve wasn't here to stop the movie. The asset knew that it could stop the movie playing, but that would have just left it sitting in the room on its own, waiting for Steve. It wasn't along now though, so it said, "Jarvis, stop movie." 

"You're getting better at giving orders, it seems," Sam said. He smiled a little and came to sit beside the asset in Steve's place on the couch. 

"Jarvis is a computer," the asset said. "Giving instructions to a computer is not like giving orders to a person." 

Tony had tried to explain about Jarvis but the explanation became very confusing, so Steve had simply told him that Jarvis was a very sophisticated computer. That made things easier to understand. The asset could use computers like it used the tablet, so speaking to Jarvis and giving commands didn't come with a feeling of unacceptable behaviour that would be there if it attempted to give orders to a person. 

"That's a good point," Sam said. He sat and watched the asset for two and a half minutes. "So... Steve called me." 

That didn't require a response. Steve frequently called Sam. 

Sam continued, "He said you kissed him." 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"I want to make him happy. Internet research suggested that a kiss on the neck would make him happy. The internet was incorrect." 

"That's... a very important lesson about life. There is a lot of information on the internet. Some of it is correct, some of it is exaggerated, some is true but misleading, and some is just completely wrong. It's also possible to take things out of context. What was the context of the page you found this advice on?" 

The asset retrieved the tablet and went through the browser history until it found the page. It handed the tablet to Sam who took it. His concerned expression turned into one of amusement as he read, "Ways to please your man?" 

"I read other pages," the asset said, "but not all of the advice was applicable to my situation." 

"But you thought that this would be applicable?" Sam asked. He sounded like he wanted to laugh and kept pressing his lips tightly together in an effort to maintain a serious expression. 

"I want to please Steve," the asset said. "He is a man. He is not my man but I am his so it seemed appropriate. The majority of the suggestions on this page do not require any additional equipment." 

Sam put the tablet down. "I'm going to stop reading before I get to the posts that do talk about extra equipment. Bucky, this is all about sex. It's meant to be for women looking to spice up their sex lives with their husbands." 

"They say it makes their husbands happy. Why wouldn't it be effective at making Steve happy?" 

Sam looked at him for a long moment and then dragged a hand across his face. "This is not the sort of conversation I thought I would be having when I got roped into helping out an Avenger." 

Sam sighed and shifted position on the couch. The asset waited silently for information. 

"OK," Sam said. "Let's start with the basics. Are you aware what sex is?" 

"Yes." 

"Right. Good. Now, there are a lot of different acts that are in some way sexual, but which aren't always. Things like hugging and kisses can be sexual but don't have to be, and then there are actual sex acts like, well, the sort of thing on that discussion forum. Different people feel different ways about sex. For some people, sex is casual fun and they'll go out and pick up a one-night-stand at a bar and they'll have sex and then maybe never see each other again. Some people don't really care who they have sex with and so they'll pay to have sex with someone and those other people make money by having sex as a sort of service. For those people, sex isn't a big deal. They enjoy it, they might get something out of it, and it's all straight-forward. But not everyone treats it casually. There are some people who think sex is a really special thing that should only be shared with a really special person in a long-term and committed relationship, someone that they love in a romantic way. For some of them, that relationship has to be a life-long commitment and they'll only have sex with someone once they're married. Then there's sexuality. Some people only like sex with men, some only like sex with women. Then there are some people who just don't like sex at all." 

"Is Steve someone who doesn't like sex?" the asset asked. That would explain why he had reacted so badly when the asset had attempted to initiate physical contact and to the offer of oral sex. The asset would have to consider other approaches to making Steve happy if that was the case. 

Sam didn't answer right away. He studied the blank screen in front of them as though there was something interesting on it. The asset watched Sam's face. 

"I don't know much about Steve's sexual preferences," Sam said. "It's not a subject that's really come up in conversation. I could make a few guesses, but they'd be guesses and it wouldn't be fair on him if I get them wrong. I don't know if he's into guys, girls, both, neither." Sam gave a shrug. "On the other hand, I can say that in all the time I've known him, I've never seen him go for casual sex. I think he's dated a few women, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of him being interested in guys, and I don't think he actually had sex or probably even kissed those women, so I think sex for him would be a big deal." 

The asset considered this. It could be committed to Steve. It belonged to Steve, and was prepared to make a lifelong commitment to him so he could make Steve happy. It voiced this to Sam, who looked like he might start laughing again. 

"Before you start proposing marriage," Sam said, "there's another big topic that we need to address and that's consent. Do you know what consent is?" 

"No." 

"Of course you don't. Not exactly high on Hydra's priorities list." Sam paused, clearly thinking hard. Presumably this was a difficult concept to teach. "At it's simplest, consent is saying yes. If I ask a person to do something and they say yes, that person had consented to do the thing. When you go in for surgery, you sign forms saying that you're OK with the doctors cutting you open and digging around in your insides to fix whatever's wrong. Parents sign consent forms for schools to say that it's OK that their kids take part in certain activities." 

"Do I need to sign a form to have sex with Steve?" 

"No. But you'd need to say yes. Because sex can be so personal and important to people, people need to say yes before anything can happen. Both people involved have to want it." 

"Steve has to want it," the asset said. That was the source of the problem. Steve hadn't wanted to be kissed. Steve hadn't wanted oral sex. 

"Yes," said Sam, "but that's not the only problem here. To properly say yes to something, a person has to be able to say no. I think that's probably what's freaking Steve out the most right now, the fact that you're not in a position to properly consent to anything." 

"If I say yes to Steve before I initiate physical contact," the asset said, "I am consenting." 

"Sort of, but it's more complicated than that because you aren't really in a position to say no." Sam cast his eyes about. Perhaps he was looking for inspiration for how to explain because his eyes settled on the food containers Steve had left and then he said, "You like some foods more than others, right?" 

"Yes." 

"And there are probably some foods you don't like? Something you'd rate as a one?" 

The asset thought of the defective bananas. He thought of celery, which held such negligible nutritional value that it was not worth the effort of eating. "Yes." 

"What would you do if Steve gave you a one-rated food to eat?" Sam asked. 

"I'd eat it." The question was obvious. If a handler gave the asset food, the asset would eat it. The asset's rating system was irrelevant. 

"That's the problem," Sam said. "You would do whatever Steve tells you. You'll eat the food he gives you, whether or not you want to. He can't know whether you're doing something because you want to do it or because you feel like you have to because of the programming that Hydra put in your head. Right now, it probably doesn't matter to Steve whether or not he wants to do something because he doesn't want to do anything to you that you don't want." 

The asset tried to understand this. He could see why Sam had said this was a big topic because an idea that sounded so simple was turning out to be surprisingly complicated. Mission briefings with Hydra had never touched on these subjects and his conversations with Steve had never come near them. 

"I want to make Steve happy," the asset said. It was still struggling to accept the concept of wants, the idea that it could express its preferences and have them treated as significant, but this was something he could be clear about. Steve was his handler. Steve was important. Keeping Steve happy was good. 

"You can make Steve happy without sex," Sam said. "And if sometime in the future you want to talk about sex with him, when you're better at acting autonomously, you can come back to the idea then, if you're sure you want it. In the meantime, there's something you should work on that I think will be important for making him happy anyway, but which will also reassure him if you do come back to the whole sex thing." 

The asset waited for the information. 

"You should practice saying no," Sam said. 

"No," the asset repeated. "No." 

Sam gave an amused smile again. "I didn't mean to me, although that's fine. I meant saying no to Steve. When he asks you if you want to do something, or better yet, tells you do something, try saying no." 

The idea made the asset's heart beat faster and sweat prickle on its skin. It couldn't say no to a handler. It felt the first stirrings of the feeling that had filled it before it had disobeyed before, the feeling of terror and revulsion, like it might throw up to rid its body of the concept. 

Sam saw the reaction and reached out to pat the asset gently on the shoulder. 

"I get that it's tough, but it's important," he said. "I'll talk to Steve and see if we can find a way to make it easier for you, but I think learning to say no to Steve would be a big step towards proving you can be independent. Just know that it might take a while to get there and that's OK."

When Sam left the cell, the asset considered all they had discussed. These were new concepts, ideas he had never had to contemplate before, as difficult as the concepts of making choices and expressing preferences. Its thoughts shied away from the idea of saying no because that thought made him shake with unpleasant emotion and remember the punishment, remember the pain that was intrinsically linked to that word. 

It thought of other things, other ideas that were as big and complicated, like what Sam had said about sex being something significant between people in relationships, between people who loved each other. The asset didn't know how to recognise love, didn't know how he would know if he felt that. Steve was important to him and keeping Steve happy was the most significant drive in his life. Was that love? 

As he thought about this subject, a voice drifted through his mind, a whisper of memory. A woman asked, "Are you in love with my Steven?" 

The asset remembered the question being asked, but he couldn't remember how Bucky Barnes had answered.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's a panic attack and vomiting in this chapter.

"I spoke to Sam," Steve said, laying out food on the table and pushing aside the discarded containers that had been left there the night before. "He thinks it would be a good idea if we practice having you say no to me. Do you want to try?" 

The asset wondered if this had been the first part of the lesson because it didn't want to try. It was expected to answer honestly any question its handler asked it, and the honest answer was that it definitely didn't want to say no to Steve because the idea of refusing orders was terrifying. It made its body shake as though it were being subjected to punishment. It made it want to void its bowels and vomit. Saying no was an awful thing. 

But if he gave that answer now, the honest answer, then he was saying no to something Steve had suggested. He was refusing to go along with an implied order. 

Saying yes was lying and unacceptable. Saying no was... was what Steve wanted except he would be saying no to what Steve wanted. By saying no to practicing saying no, he was practicing saying no. It was a paradox. It was a trap. It was a scenario where neither option was acceptable and both options meant punishment and the asset couldn't drive the thought of punishment away even though Steve had said he wouldn't ever punish the asset. The asset felt like the room was growing smaller, the space closing in around it, crushing it, crushing the air out of its lungs. 

It tried to breathe but there didn't seem to be enough oxygen. It needed to say something, needed to give an answer. The compulsion to respond to a handler's question was a burning force inside it but it couldn't say either of the options. Yes was wrong and no was wrong and the whole world seemed to be putting pressure on the asset from the outside as the words choked him from the inside. 

"Bucky?" The handler was saying the name, had been saying the name for some time. The asset wasn't listening to its handler. The asset needed to be punished. The asset needed... 

The asset needed... 

The asset threw up down its handler’s front. 

"Well that's one way to say no." 

It waited for the correction, for a blow or a sharp word or a jab with a cattle prod. But as it waited, the air seemed to come more easily. 

It had said no without saying it. It had thrown up and the handler had interpreted the answer as a negative without the asset having to say anything. It had answered without answering. The cell seemed its correct dimensions again. 

"Sorry," the asset said. 

Steve put a hand on his arm, rubbing gently. "It's alright. Are you OK now?" 

The asset nodded. "Yes." 

"That was an extreme reaction. Are you ill? Or was that because of my suggestion? Was it because I suggested you saying no to me?" 

The asset nodded again. "Saying no is unacceptable. Unacceptable behaviour means punishment." 

"I'm not going to punish you. I'll tell you that as often as you need to hear it. I won't punish you for saying no to me, not ever. Do you understand?" 

The asset wasn't sure how to answer that question. He understood the words that Steve was saying and believed that Steve meant them, but understanding didn't mean that he could accept them. Not accepting them meant believing his handler to be a liar though, and that was not unacceptable either. The asset was left in a state of believing and not believing. 

"My body doesn't understand," the asset said. 

"Your body? Oh. I guess it's like when someone's been abused. If someone moves fast or shouts near they, they're likely to flinch, because they have a learned response that those things mean getting hit, even years after they're away from the person who abused them. You associate certain things with torture and have a physical reaction, even if you know I'm not going to hurt you." 

The asset nodded. 

Steve nodded back. He considered this for a minute. 

"OK," he said at last. "I'll have to think about how to do this in a way that is easy for you. In the meantime, I'm going to go get changed. I think maybe we don't want to eat breakfast in here anymore. We'll get something somewhere else and I'll call someone to come clean in here. You might..." He cut himself off. "I'm not going to tell you whether or not to get clean." 

The asset looked down. Most of the vomit had gone on Steve and there wasn't a great deal of it because he hadn't eaten yet, but some had puddled on the floor at his feet and splashed onto his shoes and pants. Steve wanted him clean but wouldn't give the order. The asset nodded. It understood the implied order. 

"I will get clean," it said. Steve smiled and it knew it had given the correct answer. 

"OK. I'll be back in a few." 

The asset went into the bathroom to shower, rinse out his mouth, and clean his teeth. He found clean pants and another pair of shoes in the drawer and stood away from the puddle of sick while he waited for Steve to return. He didn't have to wait long. 

"We could get some food in the common area at the top of the tower," Steve said, "but I'm not sure how well stocked Tony keeps it for anything that doesn't involve alcohol. Or we could go outside and find a diner or something. What do you think?" 

The asset considered. There would be more choices outside, judging from Steve's comments. The tower would be simpler because they would have to choose from only what Tony had supplied. But Steve had looked hopeful when he talked about outside. Steve wanted to go out for breakfast, probably to test the asset's performance in public. 

"Outside." 

Steve smiled. The asset had answered correctly. It was succeeding in making Steve happy in this at least, even if he couldn't make Steve happy in other ways. 

They went to the elevator together and Steve ordered Jarvis to take them to street level. The asset stayed close by Steve's side so that he would be able to step in if there was any threat, not that he expected anyone to attack them on the New York street. There were a great many people around and the asset cast his eyes over them as they walked, trying to identify anyone who was out of place. There were people in suits heading to offices, carrying coffees or tapping at phones as they walked. There were people in more casual clothes taking photos of the tower or of Steve, giggling and whispering to each other. A few waved at Steve. The asset looked out for anyone who looked like they might be armed, for anyone paying too much attention to them. It wondered if the giggling girls could conceal an enemy, hiding a threat under the pretence of harmless interest. It watched carefully until they had walked beyond them. 

Steve took them to a coffee shop on the corner, thankfully not asking the asset to make a decision on their destination. Inside, Steve took them to a table in the back, ignoring the line at the registers. He told the asset to sit while he acquired some food. The asset obeyed, glad to have a clear instruction to follow. It was nice not to have to think too much about choices or, worse, disobedience. 

The asset watched Steve queue, eyeing the crowds in case of a threat, but most of the people here were more interested in receiving their beverages than in doing harm to Steve. Steve selected some items from a fridge and then asked for drinks at the counter. The asset waited as it had been told and soon Steve returned to the table carefully balancing cardboard cups and food items. 

"A little help?" Steve said, and the asset reached out, taking hold of the sandwiches on the top of the pile that looked liable to fall. He set them down on the table while Steve set down the rest of the items. There were two coffees, two sandwiches, and two plastic containers of fruit. 

"Take your pick," Steve said. The asset studied the available options. Presumably Steve intended him to pick one item of each type. He considered the coffee options. One had milk and sugar, the other was black. Milk was good for bones. The asset had an image in his mind of a smaller Steve, much smaller, clutching at his arm and snivelling because the bones were fragile and snapped easily. He needed more milk. The asset reached out and took the coffee without milk. The decision of sandwiches was made on similar grounds, because the one with cheese and ham would have more calcium than the one with eggs and bacon. The fruit containers were a more difficult choice because the asset didn't know if melon or mango had more nutritional value. It wanted to study dietary information to make a better decision, but Steve was watching it, waiting for an answer. 

From their earlier experiments with taste, the asset knew that mango rated slightly higher in terms of flavour, so the asset considered giving that pot to Steve. But they didn't have to like the same things. Steve might not think that the mango rated higher. The asset didn't know how to calculate the probabilities. Did the fact that the asset rated mango higher increase the probability that Steve would also rate the mango higher? Or were their individual ratings independent, in which case the probability would be fifty-fifty? The fact that Steve had purchased both would suggest that he enjoyed eating both, although the negative reaction to a dish from the Chinese restaurant showed that it wasn't necessarily the case. The asset considered the information it had and decided to weigh the choice in favour of the certainty that he rated mango higher, since everything else was pure speculation. He took the mango pot. 

"I didn't realise fruit was such a difficult decision," Steve said, but he was smiling a little, so presumably he didn't mind too much that the asset had taken a long time to decide. 

"Unknown variables," the asset said as explanation. 

Steve looked confused. "What variables?" 

"Whether you rate mango or melon higher." That was the most critical variable, and information on that would provide information on whether or not the probability of high ratings were connected. 

Steve considered for a few seconds. "Tough call. I'd say I like mango a little better. It's a bit sweeter." 

Before Steve had even finished speaking, the asset reached out, took the two fruit pots, and swapped them over. Steve stopped talking and stared in surprise at the pots. 

"Bucky, this was supposed to be about you picking the one you liked best." 

"I want you to be happy." 

Steve looked at the other items on the table, including the sandwich he was halfway through eating. 

"Why did you choose that sandwich?" 

"Your bones were fragile." 

Steve looked confused again. "What does that have to do with a sandwich?" 

"Cheese contains calcium. Good for someone who broke his bones a lot." 

"You picked that sandwich so that I'd have the one with the cheese because you thought it was better for me? Is that why you gave me the coffee with milk?" 

"Yes." 

"This..." Steve shook his head, but he was smiling as he did so, so the asset wasn't sure the gestured was meant to indicate a negative. "This is very sweet, Bucky, and I'm glad that you remember more about the past, even if it was just that I got broken bones a lot, but I'm not that scrawny kid anymore. The serum made me stronger and it made my bones a lot stronger too, as well as making everything heal faster when I get hurt. You don't have to worry about me being fragile. You can make decisions based on what you like." 

The asset considered this. "I like making you happy." 

"But here's the thing, I like making you happy too. So you having things you like makes me happy." 

The asset stared at the fruit pots. It wasn't sure if the correct behaviour here was to swap the pots back and take the mango. That would leave its handler with the inferior fruit but its handler had indicated that the correct choice was for the asset to take the superior one. Either action gave it an uncomfortable feeling that it might be behaving inappropriately. 

"Choices are difficult," it said. 

"They get easier," Steve said. "I think you're thinking too hard about them. Sometimes you just need to go with what feels right. You can't know all the variables, and for little things like this, there aren't any major consequences. You can just go with what you like." 

If the correct action was to go with what he liked, then that helped it understand the choice to make. He reached out and swapped the fruit pots back, taking the mango for himself. Steve gave him a smile. The sandwich was cold now anyway, so the asset removed the lid from his fruit pot and began eating the mango.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah fanfic, where we take one little moment in one scene of one film and turn it into a whole big thing just coz. :) 
> 
> I only finished this chapter today, so it hasn't really been proofread. I'm sorry if there are more typos than usual.

"Bucky needs help learning to say no when I tell him to do something," Steve said to the group assembled in the common area on the top floor of the tower, "but he reacted so badly to the suggestion of doing so that he had a panic attack and threw up. Any ideas?" 

The asset sat beside Steve. He didn't understand why it was so important that he be able to say no except that if he could say no then it meant him saying yes was consent and then he could make Steve happy with sex. If Steve liked sex. The asset hadn't asked that question because Steve had got stuck on the idea of trying to say no. 

Sam was the first one to offer a suggestion. "What about starting not with refusing to do the thing, but by delaying it? So Steve tells you to do something and you wait a few seconds before you follow the order. Would that be better?" 

"Hesitation is unacceptable behaviour. Hesitation means punishment." The asset saw the way Steve deflated. He had looked almost hopeful when Sam had been talking but now he looked sad again. "But I can try." 

"Don't push yourself too much," Steve said. "This will take time. If waiting too long becomes a problem, that's alright. You don't have to delay very long. We can worry about making the waiting time longer later. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." 

"If it's too much," Steve said, "is there anything I can do to break you out of a panic attack, or to stop one before it starts?" 

The asset considered. "Clear orders. If I am struggling, you can change the order, tell me to not do whatever you ordered me to do." 

"Alright." Steve looked around and saw a pen in Bruce's pocket. He asked to borrow it and set it on the coffee table in front of the asset. "Pick up the pen." 

The asset's hand started moving the instant Steve had finished speaking. The asset had to force itself to stop. This wasn't hesitation, he reminded himself. This was doing what Steve wanted. Steve wanted him to wait. But the thought of punishment made his body tremble, made sweat coat its skin. It was an asset, a tool. It had to obey its handler. Its handler had ordered it to pick up the pen so it needed to pick up the pen. But its handler wanted it to delay. 

It felt the room seeming to shrink again, dimensions shifting and applying pressure on it from outside. It remembered the handler's words about not needing to delay long. It reached out and picked up the pen. 

The moment it had the pen in its hand, the world seemed to snap back into its normal configuration. His heart was still beating rapidly, his skin still prickly with sweat, but his body had started to reset itself. The pen shook in his hand and a part of him still half-expected a blow for hesitating, even though he knew that had been the goal. 

"Seven seconds," Sam said. It had felt considerably longer. 

"Well done," Steve said, and some of the remaining tension slipped away from the asset's body. 

"Way to go, Robobuck," Tony said. He threw something at the asset. The asset snatched it out of the air, nearly crushing the small object in his metal hand. He looked at it. The item was a small, dark lump, approximately spherical with a diameter of around one centimetre. It looked like chocolate. Chocolate was rated five. 

The asset looked to Steve, who gave a little shrug. The asset took this as permission and put the lump into his mouth. It was chocolate, but with something else inside, something soft and sweet with a fruity flavour. 

"Five," the asset said. 

"Chocolate covered raisins," Tony said, holding a small paper back up. Steve frowned at him. 

"Where did those even come from? I swear you didn't have those a minute ago." 

Tony shrugged, as though bags of chocolate covered dried fruit just appeared around him on a regular basis. 

"He does this all the time in his lab," Bruce said. "I turn around for two seconds and when I turn back, he has a bag of banana chips or apple rings or something. I swear he's built secret dried fruit hiding compartments in every room of the tower." 

Tony said nothing. He just popped a chocolate covered raisin into his mouth and grinned as he ate it. Steve turned back to the asset and took the pen from him, setting it on the table. 

"You ready to try again?" he asked. The asset nodded. "Pick up the pen." 

The asset had to squash down the instinctive obedience, staring at the pen and reminding itself that Steve wanted the delay, that Steve wouldn't punish it for this, that Steve wasn't like previous handlers. The asset tried to ignore the way its body protested, the way every part of it wanted to pick up the pen so much that it felt like a physical ache in its muscles as it fought to hold still. As the room seemed to loom in again, it reached out and picked up the pen. 

"Eleven seconds," Sam said. 

"Well done," said Steve. 

Tony threw another chocolate covered raisin at it, which he ate without checking for permission from Steve. 

The third time, the asset managed to wait for fourteen seconds, then sixteen. Each time, he received words of praise from Steve and a chocolate covered raisin from Tony. 

"What's with the raisins?" Steve asked, after the asset had managed to reach eighteen seconds on its fifth attempt. 

"Positive reinforcement," Tony answered. "Hydra used behavioural conditioning to mess up his head, why not try using it to unmess it? Give him something good every time he fights the programming and he'll start associating fighting the programming with good things instead of punishment." 

"Are you trying to brainwash him into being unbrainwashed?" Steve asked. He sounded angry. Tony was making Steve upset. The asset didn't want Steve to be upset, but it had liked the chocolate covered raisins. Was liking the chocolate covered raisins bad? Was the asset going against his handler by liking them? Should it change its rating? Or would saying it liked the raisins be good because it would be acting human and expressing a want? Would Steve be happier if it said it liked the raisins or said it didn't like the raisins? But if it said it didn't like the raisins, would that be a lie? Because it had liked the raisins, it just didn't like that it liked them if liking them made Steve angry. 

"Bucky? Bucky?" 

It heard the voices but didn't really notice them, so caught up in the problems inside its head. Then a new voice joined in, "Bucky?" 

The asset's attention snapped to its handler, focusing on Steve despite the rising panic inside it. 

"What is it?" Steve asked. "What's wrong?" 

"I liked the chocolate covered raisins," the asset said and flinched automatically in expectation of the blow that wouldn't come. 

"Why would that send you into a panic?" 

"The chocolate covered raisins upset you. It upset you that I liked them." 

"No, Bucky." Steve reached out and put a hand on the asset's shoulder, warm fingers squeezing gently in a way that soothed the tight muscles beneath them. "I was upset with Stark for trying to manipulate you. I wasn't upset with you." 

"It's alright that I liked them?" 

"Of course it's alright. I just didn't like that Stark was trying to use the same sorts of techniques that Hydra used when they conditioned you." 

"Hydra never gave me chocolate covered raisins." 

"Positive reinforcement could help," Sam said. "He's been conditioned to expect pain and punishment for certain behaviours, so giving him nice things could break through that conditioning." 

"Thank you," Tony said. "Have a raisin." He offered the bag to Sam. 

Bruce frowned at him. "Is this why you give me bits of your dried fruit stash when I say something helpful in the lab? To try and condition me into being more helpful?" 

"Or maybe I'm just a friendly, generous sort of guy." 

"You're an asshole." 

"No raisins for you." 

Steve didn't seem happy that the discussion had strayed away from the asset, but the asset was relieved. It felt more comfortable now that the attention of everyone in the room wasn't focused on him. He considered what had been discussed. If it went against acceptable behaviour, he could be rewarded. He could get five rated items like chocolate covered raisins if he did things that ought to merit punishment. It knew that Steve wanted him to act without waiting for orders so the thought of doing something without orders didn't fill him with the same active discomfort as the thought of disobeying. It could pick up the pen without instruction or walk around the room and Steve wouldn't consider it to be acting inappropriately. It was allowed to eat from available food if it was hungry, so eating wouldn't be inappropriate behaviour. 

It mentally listed all the reasons why this wasn't inappropriate really even as its heart pounded furiously in its chest and its lungs struggled to breathe. It stood up without waiting for orders and walked across the open space to the other couch, aware of the conversation falling silent around it and all the eyes fixed on it. A part of it still waited for an order, a reprimand, a flash of pain, but everyone just watched anxiously as it reached Tony. The asset reached out and snatched the bag of chocolate covered raisins from his hand. 

It tried to reassure itself that it wasn't really being inappropriate as it put one of the raisins in its mouth, even though this wasn't food that Steve had provided, even though it belonged to one of Steve's allies. It went a step further and did something that Tony had expressly said was forbidden with these items. The prickle of anxiety sweat was not as strong as when it had attempted to go against Steve's orders, but it was still aware that it was doing something that it shouldn't be doing as it offered the bag of raisins to Bruce. 

"Thank you, Bucky," Bruce said, reaching out and taking one of the raisins from the bag. To Tony he said, "He likes me." 

"Traitor," Tony muttered. 

The asset returned to his seat, taking the raisins with him. He sat down and took hold of Steve's wrist, gently lifting and turning until Steve held his hand out, palm up. The asset carefully tipped half of the remaining raisins into Steve's hand. 

The asset felt like his heart might explode inside his chest, but Steve flashed him a smile that was wide and brilliant. 

"Thanks, Buck."


	22. Chapter 22

Disobedience was difficult. The asset was expected to practice every day. Steve would give it simple orders and he was expected to resist obeying for as long as he could before the sensation became too uncomfortable. He was to resist until the discomfort of resisting grew too much and the walls seemed to close in about him and each time that seemed to take just a little longer. Each time, Steve gave him a five rated food item and failed to punish it. When the asset managed to delay obeying by a full minute, Steve gave him a hug and then took him outside for ice cream bought from a special ice-cream shop a few blocks' walk from the tower, even though Steve had wondered if the weather was right for ice cream. The asset didn't understand why poor weather would impact the enjoyment of ice cream. Ice cream was rated five, especially the flavour with chocolate chips and caramel in it. There were many flavours in the shop that he hadn't tried so he would have to manage another impressive show of resistance to obedience in order to earn those. 

Despite Steve's objections to using conditioning, he had continued what Tony had begun by giving the asset nice things as a reward for things that used to result in pain. They were trying to teach his body not to be afraid, not to expect punishment for unacceptable behaviour. The asset was trying to learn that unacceptable behaviour was acceptable now. While he could understand on a mental level what Steve was trying to achieve, his body often reacted as though punishment was inevitable no matter how many times Steve reassured him it wasn't. 

As they walked back to the tower after the ice cream, the grey skies let loose a torrent. Cold rain fell in heavy and relentless drops until the whole atmosphere seemed more water than air and a surge of concern filled the asset, something close to panic but with a different feel to it than the panics around disobedience. He saw the water soak through Steve's shirt, his thin jacket, darkening the denim of his jeans in seconds, and the asset knew that it was imperative to get Steve inside. The wind picked up, buffeting at sodden fabric and the asset felt gooseflesh rise on his flesh arm. 

The asset grabbed Steve's wrist and began hurrying him along, nearly towing him through the street in an effort to combat the panic. They dodged other pedestrians and the asset considered stealing an umbrella from one of those they passed, just to give Steve a bit more protection. All the while, the cold rain poured down, collecting in puddles that Bucky urged Steve around as though that could make a difference to keeping his feet dry. He had to get Steve inside, somewhere warm and safe, and he had to do it quickly. His fingers were around Steve's wrist, feeling the warmth of his skin through the connection, and he wondered if he could feel the pulse, feel Steve's life through his fingertips. 

He waited impatiently for a light to change but he didn't dare jaywalk across the busy intersection with Steve beside him. As soon as the light changed, he hurried across, surging with the crowd of other walkers, half-towing Steve along. 

"Bucky," Steve said, and he looked at him in concern, worried that he might be struggling to breathe, that he might be unable to keep up with the fast pace, that his asthma might be causing fresh problems. He might put Steve in danger of one thing while trying to protect him from another, but there was no wheezing, no gasping for air. He didn't seem to be having an asthma attack, and he kept up with surprising ease. 

"Nearly there," he said, urging Steve along again. He considered putting his arm around Steve, pulling him close to keep him warm with his body heat, but that might slow down their pace and getting inside was more important. 

They reached the door to the tower and he almost pushed Steve through it, out of the rain. But the lobby was still too cold, air conditioning putting a chill in the air that wasn't good for someone in wet clothes with weak lungs and a fragile immune system. He needed to get that dealt with. He hurried through the security gates, past the guards who Steve signalled to back off with a wave of one hand. They reached the elevator and he hurried Steve inside before giving the number of his floor. They started moving upwards. 

That was when he pulled Steve close, wrapping an arm around him and rubbing his hand up and down Steve's arm in an effort to warm it. 

"Bucky, what's wrong?" Steve asked. 

"We need to get you warm, get those wet clothes off you. We need..." He thought, his mind supplying answers from some dusty compartment that hadn't been opened in decades. "We need hot tea. We need a fire. We need to warm you up before you get ill." 

Steve gave a little laugh. "Bucky, I'm fine." 

He heard those exact words said a hundred different times in his memory, in a voice often croaking from a sore throat or distorted by a stuffed up nose, and a trace of anger laced the worry that was filling him. He snapped, "You always say you're fine but then you get pneumonia or something and I'm left holding your hand and worrying that this time it might be the time I lose you so you will stop arguing and get those wet clothes off." 

The elevator doors opened and he towed Steve into the room, letting go of his wrist to go and grab the towel from the bathroom. 

"Bucky, really, it's alright. I don't get sick like I used to." 

He wasn't listening. 

"Clothes off. Now." He reached out for the edge of Steve's jacket to make the point, pulling it off his shoulders to make it clear that he wasn't going to accept anything but immediate compliance. Steve started stripping because otherwise the clothes would have ended up torn to pieces, and Bucky went to the drawers to pull out dry clothes for Steve to put on, searching for the thickest and softest items to wrap Steve in. 

"Jarvis, we need hot tea. How can I get it?" he asked. 

"I have placed an order for tea. It will be delivered to your room." 

"And a fire. Can we get a fire?" 

"The building's automatic fire suppressant systems would prevent a fire," Jarvis answered, "but I can request a space heater be brought to your room by maintenance." 

"Do it." 

By this point, Steve was in his underwear, smiling with fond amusement as he towelled himself dry. 

"This is all very sweet, Buck," he said, "but I'm not that fragile little kid anymore. I don't think it's possible for me to get pneumonia now thanks to the serum. You don't have to worry. Stop fretting." 

"You always give me reason to fret," he said. 

And then, because Steve was now dry and the urgency of the situation had diminished somewhat, he felt the fear receding and it hit him just what he'd done. Steve had told him to stop fretting, had given him an order to stop fretting, and he had refused. He hadn't even thought about it. He had just ordered his handler around. He had overruled his handler. He had disobeyed. He had... 

The world was closing in again. His breath came in fast pants and his heart pounded. He collapsed into a corner of the room, trying to breathe, trying to feel anything but the terror and the certainty of imminent pain. It had disobeyed. The asset had broken protocol. It had... he had... 

"Bucky?" Steve was in front of him, hands on his arms, looking at him with concern. 

"I disobeyed," the asset said in a whisper. 

"What?" 

"You told me not to fret and I disobeyed." 

"It's alright. You're safe. You're safe. I'm here. No one's going to hurt you." 

Steve started to draw him forward into a hug but he put a hand up between them, pushing Steve away. "No. I'm still wet. You need to stay dry." 

Then his mind caught up to what he'd just said and panic threatened to overwhelm him again. He'd just said no. He hadn't even thought about it as he'd done it. He'd just refused his handler. He was malfunctioning. It was malfunctioning. It needed to be reset. It needed to be reset. It needed... 

Something buzzed. Steve jumped in surprise and the asset's panic rose in a new flood. Everything new could be a source of threat, its mind unable to process the situation properly. 

"Sir," a voice said from outside, "I have tea and a space heater." 

The things the asset had asked for. The things it had ordered. It wasn't allowed to give orders. The fear surged again, rising to a peak when the buzzer sounded again. It was going to be punished. It deserved to be punished. It was defective and broken. It had just refused its handler. It had given orders to its handler. It was wrong. It was unacceptable. 

Steve opened the door while the asset was still struggling to deal with the spiral of panicked thoughts racing through its head. Steve ushered in the man outside, getting him to leave the cardboard cups of tea and the box that was apparently the heater. Steve urged the man out again while the asset cowered in the corner, trembling with expected pain and the chill that seemed to be more than just the result of damp cloth on skin. 

"Bucky," Steve said, crouching in front of the asset again. He was dressed now. The asset hadn't noticed when he'd pulled the clothes on but it was good that he was dressed. Steve held out a cup to the asset. 

"The tea's here," Steve said. 

"Your tea." 

"There's two cups. One for each of us." Steve reached out again and the asset flinched away. He was still wet. Steve couldn't touch him when he was wet. Steve might get sick. That thought overrode the fears of punishment, fear for Steve much more significant than fears for itself. 

"The space heater," it said. 

Steve went the box and found a switch. Red lines began to glow in the side as the heater powered up. 

"The heater's on, Buck," Steve said. "I'm in dry clothes and I have my tea. I'm not going to get sick. You don't need to worry." 

That last statement was enough to send it back into the spiral of panic because it was an instruction it couldn't obey. It was an implied order not to worry but it knew that would be impossible. It would always worry about Steve. The only way to not worry about Steve would be to get a reset, to forget that he existed. It couldn't breathe. It needed reset. It needed fixing. It couldn't continue as this broken thing. 

"Bucky, get up," Steve said. The asset stood almost without realising it had done so, the instinct to obey the direct order overriding everything else. 

"Dry off and change your clothes," Steve ordered. The asset obeyed. There was something simple about this, reassuring about basic instructions, tasks that could be completed in a satisfactory manner. The asset towelled itself dry and found fresh clothes to replace the sodden ones. Once dressed, Steve ordered it to sit at the table in the warmth of the space heater and drink tea. 

These straight-forward steps drove back the panic. Simple obedience took over and the asset found a sense of calm. As he sipped at the tea and watched Steve do the same, the realisation sank in that Steve hadn't punished him, had not even offered a minor correction. Steve had told him that he wouldn't hurt him, but it was hard to believe that, hard to accept the truth of a world without punishment. 

"Are you feeling better now, Buck?" Steve asked. 

"Yes." 

"Good." 

"I disobeyed." 

"I noticed that. You actually said no to me at one point. We should probably get Tony to fly you in the special Swiss chocolates he buys for Pepper as your reward for that." 

The asset's heart sped up a little at the fact that Steve was talking about rewards for disobedience, but it wasn't from fear this time. 

"I think I was Bucky Barnes for a while there," the asset said. 

"You certainly seemed more like the old Bucky," Steve agreed, "fussing about whether I would catch cold and trying to take care of me." 

"Was this good?" 

"I think so. You were making decisions, acting proactively." 

"I was making decisions he would have made." Steve wanted the asset to be Bucky Barnes. Making decisions he would have made, fussing over Steve the way Bucky would have fussed was the correct behaviour. 

But Steve frowned a little. "It's not about you making the decisions you would have made in the past, before all the Winter Soldier conditioning, it's about you making decisions at all. Sam had a very long conversation with me about this. I've got to stop thinking about this as turning back the clock, making you who you were before. You've been through too much to ever come out of it unchanged. What's important now is figuring out the person you want to be. You can still recover, you can still be healed from what they did to you, but you'll end up as someone new." 

"What if I don't know who that someone new is?" the asset asked. 

"Then I'll help you figure it out."


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be fluff and cookie baking. I'm not sure what happened.

The asset didn't know whether becoming a new person was easier or more difficult than becoming Bucky Barnes. When he had been attempting to become Bucky Barnes, he had been able to watch old footage, to see how Bucky Barnes had acted. He had found biographical information that let him create an image of the person. He wasn't able to be that person yet, but he could have attempted to pretend. 

With becoming someone new, Steve would be less likely to worry about differences if the asset couldn't pretend well enough, but it was also harder to know what the correct mode of behaving was. He wanted to be a person who obeyed orders from Steve, but he knew Steve would be upset if he said this. He remembered how Steve had given orders to break him out of the panic cycle and he didn't understand why it couldn't be like that all the time. Steve could give orders and the asset could obey and then the asset wouldn't need to worry about any of this. They could still eat five rated foods and watch movies together but the asset could do so without having to think all the time about options and choices and all the difficulties they imbued. 

But Steve expected him to make decisions so make decisions he would. He decided to begin each day with physical training because the gym was open to him and it felt good to focus on his body instead of his mind, to let the world fall away until only his body remained. It used the treadmill and the climbing frame. It ignored the weights machines, preferring to used its own body weight to provide resistance, but used some of the other cardiovascular equipment. It was satisfying to do something he was good at, to work on toning his body in a way that he new would be successful, instead of the frustration of disobedience training. 

There were other things to learn. Sam came to see him each day with a variety of computer games, trying to teach the asset about fun. The games were varied in nature, with some that involved racing cars, some that involved avoiding obstacles or collecting resources, and some that involved shooting representations of people, but Steve had frowned when he saw those so the asset avoided them. On the whole, it was satisfied with video game time because while there was a lot of choice between games, within each game there was a set of rules, with clear goals and objectives. The video game told him what he was expected to do to get a high score and it was like following orders. 

Some games had clearer objectives than others. He gave one game a low rating because there were options to choose between farming and mining and fishing and talking to the characters in the game and then there other choices like what to plant or where to fish, and the whole situation quickly felt like there were as many options as in the real world, even if the game world did come with a handy list of simple challenges to be completed. He rated higher the games that were much simpler in their options, like the one where he navigated a path and collected coloured blocks while music played, or the one where he had to collect stars and jump on monsters until he could reach the end of each level. 

He accepted the games Sam offered him, tried each one out, and then used up a significant portion of time following the simple objectives the games offered and not having to think about choices for a while. 

Then he heard Steve ask Sam quietly, "Are you sure it's healthy for him to be playing computer games all day?" 

"He uses the gym every day too," Sam pointed out, "and he seems to enjoy it." 

But Steve wasn't happy and that made the asset not happy too. Bucky opened up the menu to save his progress and stopped the game. He turned to look at Steve. 

"I didn't mean you had to stop," Steve said. "I just think you need more variety. We can try finding you other things to do." 

Apparently the asset needed a hobby. The asset wasn't sure what a hobby was except a way to waste time. It didn't see why it should spend hours making clothing with two sticks when a machine could manufacture much less lumpy items far more efficiently. Besides, the yarn kept getting caught on the plates of its metal hand and snapping. It did not rate knitting highly and it came to the conclusion that if it continued with the task for much longer he would stab through the eye the next person (so long as it wasn't Steve) who asked him how it was going. 

Making beads and wire into patterns was equally pointless, as was knotting colourful threads into bracelets. 

Steve decided to give him access to some of the tools from Tony's lab to try wood working and electronics, watching him carefully as he tried out some simple things from instructions found on the internet, but this task seemed pointless and inefficient too. He could understand why it might be necessary to make basic repairs, but building a birdbox seemed entirely unnecessary, especially since the manufacturing industry could create the same items a lot more easily, and rigging up basic circuits felt pointless when across the room Tony was simulating things several thousand times as complicated without any apparent effort. 

Reading was more acceptable. Like watching movies, it told a narrative for no point except to tell the narrative, only he was expected to do it alone. At least with movies he was with Steve, which automatically made an activity better. Reading was a neutral rating. 

After several days of attempting different things with varying degrees of success, the asset thought back to the lists he had found of how to make someone happy. He had been trusted with the wood working tools so perhaps he would be trusted with other things that he had previously been denied access to. 

One morning, after he and Steve had finished breakfast together and completed the disobedience practice for the day, the asset announced, "I want to try cooking." 

Steve seemed startled, perhaps because the asset rarely asked for anything directly. He didn't argue. He took the asset to the elevator, the asset bringing his tablet with him so he could look up recipes. Steve took the asset up a few floors and into a small apartment built into the tower. 

"This is where I stay when I'm in the Tower," Steve told him. It was a larger space than the asset's cell, and the furniture here wasn't fixed to the floor. It had a living area and a separate bedroom, a bathroom with an actual bath, and, the purpose of this trip, a small kitchen. "I'm not sure what I actually have available to cook with though." 

The asset conducted a brief inventory of the contents of cupboards and fridge and came to the conclusion that Steve did not have available any of the ingredients to make cookies except eggs. He didn't even have butter. The fridge was half-empty and most of the cupboards had nothing in them at all. This was unacceptable. It was not allowed for Steve to go hungry. Empty cupboards meant growling stomachs and shaking hands and Steve getting sick. It was Bucky's job to make sure the cupboards were filled, to keep Steve from going hungry. He felt that like the urgent pressure to obey orders. 

"Jarvis, I need to acquire food," he announced. 

"Certainly," Jarvis replied. "List the items you require and I will have them ordered and delivered to you." 

The asset started by listing the ingredients for the cookie recipe he had been planning on making, but that was not sufficient. Cookies might be on the lists of things that made people happy but they weren't enough for living on. Other things were required. 

He continued, "Carrots, cabbage, onions, potatoes, salt, bread, liver, chicken, apples, lentils, beans, tomatoes." Names of foods came into his mind and he listed them off. At some point, Steve started laughing. 

"How many people are you planning on cooking for, Buck?" 

"It is unacceptable for you to have empty cupboards. You require basic staples." 

"OK, but you've just listed off more food than we used to eat in a month." 

"You have a higher metabolism now." 

"I've also been ordering out a ridiculous amount so we can try different foods." 

That was information the asset should have been able to deduce but hadn't. Steve had been ordering food from restaurants for him. That was unacceptable. 

"Restaurant food is expensive," he said, "an unnecessary luxury. We can get by just fine without it." 

"It might be unnecessary, but it's a luxury I can afford now. Turns out when you're missing in action you're still on the military payroll and when you're missing in action for seventy years," Steve gave a shrug and a smile. "Besides, Tony pays for just about everything round here so I haven't have to pay utility bills in a while. I tried to talk to him about paying rent on this apartment and he looked at me like I'd just punched him in the face without provocation. I think I offended him with the idea." 

"You can't have empty cupboards," Bucky insisted, because that was important. Just because Steve could afford to waste money on ordering food from restaurants didn't mean he should, not when he had Bucky to take care of him. He did limit the amount of food he was ordering though, at Steve's insistence. That was acceptable since it was not allowed to waste food. 

He confirmed the list to Jarvis and then they had to wait until the food could be delivered. 

"You were getting all assertive again," Steve told him. "You get more independent when you're trying to take care of me." 

The asset thought about its major disobedience, when it had run away to destroy the book, and thought about how he had been able to do that because one of the factors was that he would be keeping Steve from the fight. He nodded. 

"Keeping you safe is important." 

"I appreciate that, Buck, but things are different now for both of us. The whole world is different. The way we used to do things doesn't necessarily apply." 

"Some things don't change. You're still a punk." 

Steve laughed, shaking his head a little. That was good. The asset was pleased it could make Steve smile but there was one problem with how he had done so: the words had come from nowhere in his head and he didn't have context for them. 

"What does punk mean?" the asset asked. 

Steve just laughed again, but thankfully Jarvis was more helpful. "In modern usage, it generally refers to a person who is in rebellion against authority and is highly associated with the punk music scene, however it has been adopted by other movements such as the cyberpunk or solarpunk movement who address issues such as societal inequality through the use of electronic or renewable technology respectively. However, in historical usage, during the time Bucky Barnes would have begun using the word, punk more often referred to a man who was young and inexperienced. It was also used as a slang term for an inexperienced partner in a homosexual relationship, one who relied on their partner for money, support, or protection." 

There was complete silence in the kitchen as those words sank in. 

Steve hadn't laughed or corrected Jarvis. Surely if the word as Bucky Barnes had used it had been the earlier meaning, Steve would say so, to avoid the implication that it had been used in the later manner. But Steve said nothing. He looked at the asset with an expression that was almost fearful. 

"Was Bucky Barnes your lover?" the asset asked. Was that why it had distressed him so much when the asset had tried to kiss him? Because he had loved the old Bucky Barnes? 

"No," said Steve. "He wasn't. But..." He trailed off and looked away. He seemed to shrink into himself, shoulders slumping. "I loved him. I would have... I would have liked to have been his lover, his punk, but the world wasn't so accepting and both of us, well, both of us looked at girls too. It was safer to just shut that part of ourselves away, to pretend it wasn't there. It wasn't like we could have married each other." 

A memory surfaced. A woman, pale and coughing, lying in bed. 

"Will you take care of him?" she asked. 

"'Til my dying day," Bucky Barnes had answered. 

She'd smiled, despite the strain on her face, "Careful, James. That almost sounded like 'til death do you part." 

Bucky Barnes had looked away, studying the threadbare blanket instead of the woman's face. 

"Are you in love with my Steven?" the woman asked. 

"It doesn't matter," Bucky Barnes had answered. "He can find some nice dame, someone who sees him for who he is and who'll love him right. He can marry her and I'll be happy for him." 

But despite the words, the memory wasn't happy. The memory of Bucky Barnes ached at the thought of seeing Steve with someone else. 

"He could do a lot worse than marry you," the woman said. Bucky Barnes had looked at her again, searching her face for some sign of deception or that she was making fun of him. 

"I would have thought your god would have a thing or two to say about that." 

"You love my boy. You take care of him. You make him happy. If God thinks there's a sin in that, then he's not the loving father I believe he is." She had reached out and taken Bucky Barne's hand, her fingers cold and dry in his. "Whatever the priests or the government have to say, if you want to swear your vows to my Steve, you have my blessing." 

There had been tears on his face in the memory. There were tears on his face now, and Steve standing in front of him, a hand on his arm, concern on his face. 

"Bucky?" Steve said. "Bucky, what is it? What's wrong?" 

"I remembered something. I remembered your mother." 

"Ma?" Steve said the word like it was something holy. 

"She asked Bucky Barnes if he loved you and gave him her blessing to marry you." 

"But that doesn't make sense. Two men couldn't get married then. Even being seen together would have got us arrested." 

"She said it didn't matter what the government said." 

Steve was silent for a long while. "Oh," was the only thing he said when he did speak again. 

"He loved you," the asset said. "The old Bucky Barnes. He was in love with you."


	24. Chapter 24

The asset worried he might have broken Steve. Steve stared at him in silence, a haunted, blank look on his face. The asset wondered if this was what he looked like when he got into a spiral of fear and confusion around decisions or disobedience. The asset was alarmed at that thought because he had no wish for Steve to experience that awful sensation. Damaging Steve was unacceptable but the words he'd said seemed to have done exactly that.

"Steve?" he said, voice quiet, like talking to an animal that might be easily spooked.

"You were in love with me," Steve said. His voice was barely more than a whisper. It wasn't a question. "But... I thought... I knew you cared about me and we'd... we'd talked about... but you went out dancing with girls. You were always trying to find a girl for me. Every other week it seemed like you were playing matchmaker and setting me up on dates. Why would you do that if you were in love with me?"

"I don't know," the asset answered. "I don't remember that. I remembered a conversation with your mother and she asked Bucky Barnes if he was in love with you. She said that you could do worse than marry someone like him."

"Someone like you."

"Someone like I used to be. Like the old Bucky Barnes."

"My ma... I can't believe she'd say that."

The asset considered. "I could be misremembering."

"No. No, I'm sure it's not the memory that's wrong. It's just, why wouldn't she tell me that? Why didn't you tell me? If you had that conversation with my ma, there must have been a million opportunities for you to tell me about it but you never did."

The asset wondered if he was expected to apologise. It felt strange to apologise for something he didn't remember doing, something that had been done so long ago that the person doing it had been someone else entirely, but it was clear that this distressed Steve. There had to be something he could do to make this better. The asset considered.

"In the future," he said, "I promise I will tell you if I have conversations about being in love with you."

Steve looked a little shocked at that, but then he laughed. He didn't look quite like he'd stopped being sad, but this was better. The asset had done well.

"I'd appreciate that, Buck."

"I did talk to Sam about wanting to have sex with you and he speculated that you only had sex with people who you loved."

"I thought when you came on to me that it was because of a thing you read on the internet," Steve said. He looked less happy now. Sex was still a topic of discussion that distressed Steve.

"It was. I read a discussion on pleasing your man. Sam said it was for married women. I understand if you don't want to have sex with me because you were in love with him."

"You talk about who you used to be like a different person."

"He was," the asset said. "I am making myself a new person. You said that was what was right."

"Yeah. I mean, I guess. But underneath, you and him... you and the past you... there's the same foundation there."

"I feel like he was a different person. You said that just because Bucky Barnes liked certain things, it doesn't mean I have to. Just because he acted in certain ways, I don't have to. If I don't remember being him and I don't like or do the things he did, then we are different people. It's easier if I think about him as someone else."

"I... I supposed. It's just hard for me because I look at you and see him."

"Do you want me to pretend to be him?" That was something the asset had considered for a while, something he had thought Steve wanted. He hadn't thought about that for a while but he had access to the information and the footage of Bucky Barnes. It might be difficult if Steve gave him an order to continue to pretend, but he was willing to try.

But Steve said sharply, "No!" He looked upset at the idea. He continued in a softer tone, "I don't want you to pretend. I want you to be who you are, whoever that turns out to be now."

The asset wasn't sure what to say to that but thankfully he was saved from having to think of something by the door buzzer going. Steve jumped a little, but the asset knew what that sound meant now and so he wasn't too shocked by it. It didn't alarm him the way it had while he'd been panicking.

Steve went to answer and there were two men outside wheeling small trolleys with boxes stacked on them. Steve lifted the nearest box to help with the load and together they moved the boxes through to the kitchen where the asset got to work unpacking the groceries he had demanded Jarvis order. He began sorting them carefully into the empty cupboards, arranging them in a manner that was an efficient use of space and which would allow the most commonly used items to be the easiest to reach. He started sorting the food items so that the ones Steve liked best were on the lowest shelves so that he would be able to reach them without help, when he caught himself.

He didn't need to do that because Steve was taller than he was now. The asset didn't feel like Bucky Barnes but sometimes it felt like Bucky Barnes was standing behind him, whispering instructions in his ear, a handler inside his own head giving his own orders and issuing his own protocols when it came to caring for Steve. Perhaps that was how he could become an independent person: by listening to the whispers of the old Bucky Barnes when they broke through. He thought that would make Steve happy.

He didn't know how to make those whispers come more frequently though. They seemed to come when Steve was at risk, whether from the injuries like those the asset had caused on the helicarrier, from catching cold in the rain, or from an inability to feed himself properly, but the thought of putting Steve in danger just so that he could hear the whispers more frequently was beyond unacceptable.

He needed to find something else that felt familiar, something that brought up old protocols. Perhaps he could make those protocols come by connecting with memories that were deeper than the memories of incidents that had been erased. The procedure hadn't erased the asset's ability to walk or speak or shoot, it left the skills intact even when the asset was wiped after missions. Perhaps there were other skills which hadn't been erased, other skills which could be used to make the Bucky Barnes ghost speak to him more frequently. Images and stories and the archive footage of the Howling Commandos did nothing to stir up memories, but perhaps actions might.

For now, he had other actions to complete. He had decided to make cookies, starting this whole mess, so it would be foolish not to continue with that plan. As the asset set aside the ingredients according to the recipe on the phone, he began to formulate a plan for his new goal of summoning the Bucky Barnes ghost. Following the steps of the recipe was simple, like following orders, not requiring him to make decisions, so his mind was clear to think about this other task. By the time the dough had been mixed and spooned out onto a baking tray, the plan was refined. By the time the oven timer pinged and he removed the cookies from the oven, he knew what his next step would be.

"They smell delicious, Buck," Steve said. He had watched the cooking process with interest but hadn't tried to interfere, simply observing the actions the asset had chosen for himself. Now he came closer as the asset worked a spatula under each cookie to lift them off onto the cooling rack. He reached out to take one and the asset slapped his hand away without thinking, the panic at having struck his handler being overruled by the responsibility of protection. The ghost had taken control again for a moment.

"You'll burn yourself," he told Steve.

"Fine." Steve pouted like a child as the asset removed the rest of the cookies from the tray. The asset divided the cookies into three equal piles, trying to be as fair as possible despite the lack of consistency in cookie size, so he grouped the largest cookie with the smallest and considered whether it would be necessary to weigh the piles to ensure evenness. It decided precise match was not necessary. It suspected that there might be slightly more cookie quantity in the pile on the left.

He pointed to that pile. "Those are for you."

"Thanks, Bucky. Who are the others for?"

"Those are for me." The asset pointed at the middle pile. He hunted around in a drawer to find a roll of baking foil and carefully moved the final pile onto a piece of foil so that he could transport them more easily.

"And who are those for?" Steve asked.

"They are for Nat."

It was obvious that this answer took Steve by surprise. "Why would you give Nat homemade cookies?"

The asset didn't want to answer the question because Steve would probably get excited or get his hopes up about this waking the old Bucky Barnes but there was no way to know if this would work until it was tried. The asset didn't want to give Steve false hope, but it couldn't refuse to answer a direct question from its handler. It had to say something, the pressure of the need to obey building the longer it considered its words. He said, "They are a bribe. Please don't ask any further questions."

"Alright. I won't."

Steve still looked confused, but there was a little smile on his face. Perhaps even that the asset would ask not to be asked was enough to make him happy. He picked up one of his cookies and ate it while the asset finished packing up the cookies for Nat. The asset took one of his own cookies and ate it, just to test that it was alright before he offered the cookies to someone else. It was five rated, with the chocolate chips melted and gooey inside the still-warm dough.

He carried the foil-wrapped bundle out of Steve's apartment and asked Jarvis where he could find Nat. It turned out she had a room on the floor below. The asset took the elevator down and went to the door Jarvis indicated, ringing the buzzer beside it. When the door opened, the asset held its offering out to her.

She looked at it suspiciously, as though it might explode.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Cookies." When she still looked suspicious, he added, "I have tested one and suffered no ill-effects so they don't appear to be poisonous."

She smiled a little and took the bundle from him, peeling the foil back to reveal the cookies inside. She took one and tentatively nibbled a corner.

"Are you making cookies for all the Avengers?" she asked.

"No. I have made cookies for Steve, me, and you."

"I'm flattered. Why not Sam or Clint? Or Tony - this is his tower after all."

"These are a bribe. I require your assistance."

"With what?"

"I need to dance with a dame."

Nat laughed, spluttering cookie crumbs and coughing a little as they went down the wrong airway. The asset waited for her to recover herself.

"Firstly," she said, "no one calls women dames anymore. Secondly, why do you want to dance with a woman?"

The asset didn't want to explain his reasoning, especially to someone who might report back to Steve. Thankfully, she was not a handler so a direct answer was not required in the same way it would have been had Steve asked. He could consider his answer more carefully and give a response that while true was not completely true. He didn't need to tell her about trying to get the old hints of Bucky Barnes to come to the surface more often.

"To make Steve happy," he said, since that was his purpose behind almost everything he did. "I wish to see if I can learn a skill Bucky Barnes used to have. I don't wish Steve to know until I know if I can."

Nat smiled a little at that in a knowing way that the asset wasn't sure he liked. "Alright, Romeo. Dust off your dancing shoes. I'll give you a lesson or two."

"I don't think I have dancing shoes," the asset answered. "Should I ask Jarvis to order me some?"


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains what is probably a contender for the least sexy masturbation scene ever, but I hope it amuses you as much as it amused me to write. I'm not sure I've ever spent so much time giggling during a piece of writing.

Jarvis helpfully provided the asset with information on songs that would have played in dance halls when Bucky Barnes went out with dames. Nat was more familiar with ballet and classical dances, but the internet was full of videos, including those that demonstrated the basics of dance moves. They focused on the lindy hop because Jarvis said it was very popular. First though, Nat gave instructions to Jarvis that they were not to be disturbed and that there could be no security footage recordings, or any other visual or audio recordings of their activities. Their internet history was also to be concealed. Jarvis informed them that they were now in privacy mode. Steve would not be able see what they were doing. 

The asset was grateful to Nat for this, as much as for her agreement to dance with him, He knew that he would not have been able to give those orders to Jarvis. While he had become accustomed to issuing instructions to the artificial intelligence, he would have been unable to give orders that involved keeping secrets from Steve. Steve was his handler. He couldn't order anyone to keep his handler away from him, but it seemed he could accept Nat giving those same orders without him telling her to. 

They used Nat's living room, pushing furniture aside to give them room, and then they attempted to copy the movements from the YouTube videos. At first, the asset's movements were still and awkward. Nat was better, moving with grace, but it was clear that she was unfamiliar with the particular motions associated with this dance. 

For perhaps fifteen minutes, they made stilted, awkward steps, the asset aware of every part of his body but somehow unable to control it as he wished. Then something shifted and the movements came like the careful exercises on the climbing frame, a flow of position into position. There was no set order of motion, no rule he had to follow about which step to make in which direction, when to sway and when to swing. He could let his muscles lead him based on the feel of the music through his feet. He didn't need to mimic the motions precisely, he realised. The purpose of the dance was to move as he felt, not as some video told him to move. He wasn't sure anymore if it was the ghost of Bucky Barnes taking control of him, letting him step and turn in the right way, or if it was the music itself. 

Nat's awkwardness vanishing as his did and she moved easily, letting the music and his movements guide her. As they danced, she accepted his lead, letting him dictate direction and speed. 

He felt something familiar about that, about holding a smaller, thinner person in his arms, guiding them through the dance. With each step, he reached for that familiarity, letting the memory come without trying to force it. Each twist of his body, each movement of their feet, brought that moment back from the distant past. Words echoed in his ears, faint whispers nearly drowned out by the music, the words of Bucky Barnes as he'd had his hands on Steve's shoulders once, long ago, when Steve had been the smaller, thinner person in his arms, moving awkwardly through an attempt to dance. 

"No, Steve, you're supposed to lead," Bucky had said. He remembered the look on Steve's face, the faint pout. 

"I don't see why," Steve had answered. 

"Because when you're dancing with a dame the man leads. Doesn't matter if she's taller than you or if she's danced more, you're the one who leads." 

"What if I don't want to dance with a dame?" Steve had asked and Bucky had flung his arms up, stepping away in the small space of their little apartment. 

"Then why do you keep wanting these lessons?" 

Steve had looked away, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. "Maybe I like dancing with you." 

The asset felt the echo of it, the way Bucky's heart had sped up, the surge of hope and the rush of terror that came immediately after. He felt the anger that was fueled by fear, saw the vulnerability of the figure in front of him and felt that overwhelming need to protect. 

"If you go to the sort of places you could dance with me," Bucky had said, "you'll get yourself arrested or beaten to death in some alley somewhere, so you will damn well learn to lead and I'll find you a nice girl to dance with and you can stop thinking things that will get you in trouble." 

The asset heard how those words had sounded, heard the harsh tone they'd been spoken in, but it hadn't been anger Bucky had been feeling when he'd said them. He'd been afraid for Steve. That was the primary protocol for Bucky Barnes just as it was for the asset: Steve had to be protected at all costs. Even if it had hurt Bucky to do it. 

"Barnes?" The voice cut through the ghosts of the past. The image of the apartment with its cracked walls and peeling paint faded and the asset was once again standing in Nat's living room in the tower. He had stopped moving and she was looking at him with concern on her face. 

"I experienced a memory," he said. 

"Oh?" She sounded casual, like she didn't care if he explained or not. 

"I remembered dancing with Steve." 

"That sounds like a nice memory." 

"Bucky Barnes was afraid Steve would be arrested if they danced together. Why would Steve be arrested for dancing?" 

"It was the times, I guess," Nat answered. "There were rules about what was allowed or not allowed, and the people in charge didn't like the idea of two men being together, sexually." 

"Dancing isn't sex."

"True, but those people worried that dancing would lead to sex and most people like to dance with the gender of people they're attracted to. There were all sorts of rules against men dancing together or men and women wearing clothes designed for another gender. There were laws making it a crime for doing things that never hurt anyone so, yeah, the police might have raided the sort of dance hall where men could dance together and arrested anyone they found there." 

The asset had never been expected to understand rules. Rules were issued and obeyed. It had never been the asset's place to consider the reasons behind those rules but it seemed Bucky Barnes hadn't liked those rules. He hadn't wanted to obey them. The asset hoped it could remember that feeling when it next had to practice disobedience, the certainty that rules could be wrong and the resentment at having to follow them. 

"Would Steve get arrested for dancing with me now?" the asset asked. 

"No. There are still people who don't like it, people who would probably make a huge fuss if Captain America was caught dancing with a man, but no one would arrest him for it." 

The asset considered this. In the memory, Steve had liked dancing with Bucky Barnes. Steve now liked it when the asset had memories of Bucky, or liked the things he had liked. He was happy when the asset made decisions, especially when he made the decisions that Bucky Barnes would have made. The asset knew that Bucky Barnes had made the opposite decision to the one he was contemplating, but he still believed that this decision would make Steve happy. 

"I want to go out dancing with Steve." 

***

The asset baked another batch of cookies and this time he offered the third portion to Sam, which annoyed Tony, who had been talking to Sam about upgrading his wings when the asset approached with the cookies. Tony wasn't calmed by the explanation that the cookies were a bribe and that the asset and Nat required Sam's assistance to implement a secret plan. 

"Should I be worried that two former assassins are hatching secret plots inside my tower?" Tony asked. "They could be up to evil, dark side conspiracies. Aren't you worried?" 

"The dark side has cookies," Sam told him, eating one of the asset's offering and refusing to let Tony get near the others. 

Sam joined the asset and Nat in her living room and Nat explained what they needed. Sam's role in this was a simple one: his job was to get Steve to the correct location, at the correct time, in the correct attire. 

The two of them helped the asset research where that correction location should be, because neither of them thought that a modern nightclub would be the right sort of place, even though it was where people now went to dance. Nat found a social club that had a retro night and she believed it would be perfect. The pictures on the website were similar to those Jarvis had supplied of dance halls in the early 1940s. 

The asset used the internet to research what normally happened when people went dancing, but this time he was careful to ask Sam and Nat about his ideas, to avoid another incident like the one with the sex advice forum. They let the asset make the decisions, but he accepted their input on whether they thought Steve would react badly to the various ideas the internet was providing to him. By the end of a couple of hours, the asset had a clear plan set for his dancing date with Steve. 

He couldn't help noting however that a lot of the internet sites implied that sex was a standard follow-up step to a successful date. Many sites suggested that achieving sex was the ultimate aim of dancing. If the asset was successful in dancing with Steve and making him happy then it might lead to sex, which might lead to Steve getting upset again. The asset didn't want Steve to get upset. He could state that he wasn't intending for the date to lead to sex but that might upset Steve too, since the internet implied that a dance partner rejecting the option of sex was bad. 

The asset considered the earlier conversation with Sam. Sam had said that the biggest problem was that Steve wasn't sure if the asset really wanted to have sex, if it was something he would enjoy. The asset needed to learn what rating it would give sex before it could approach the topic with Steve. 

Thankfully, the internet had lots of information on this subject. Back in his room, the asset watched several of the instructional videos that he was able to uncover, though he wasn't certain if the people in the videos rated the activity highly because a lot of them seemed to be moaning and crying out on a regular basis. Was sex a painful experience? If sex was painful, the asset did not wish to experience it with Steve. He did not wish to hurt Steve or make him scream like the woman in the video was doing as the man thrust inside her repeatedly. Looking at the videos he had found, the asset was also unsure of the anatomy situation, as Steve was unlikely to have the same orifices as the woman in the video. 

The asset refined his search terms and found that the internet also contained many videos of men having sex. He studied these carefully, looking for similarities so that he could identify what were the commonalities between the pairings. There were particular body parts which were stimulated in almost all of the videos. 

Stimulation of genitals was clearly a major component of sexual pairing, so the asset placed the tablet device, still playing videos, on the couch cushion beside him so that his hands would be free. The asset undid the flies of his jeans and reached into the opening, pushing aside underwear so that he could reach his genitals. He stroked his hand up and down his penis, as one of the men in the video was doing to the other. The sensation was strangely pleasant and left him with the feeling that he wanted to continue. It didn't make him start screaming and gasping like the man in the video was doing. The asset wasn't certain if this meant he was doing it incorrectly but his penis did start to swell. From the various videos he had seen, this was the expected result, though the size of the growth did not match that of the people in the video. Perhaps there was a correlation between the volume of screaming and the growth of the penis. 

"Ahhhhh!" the asset said, experimentally. He used a medium volume but there was no change in the size of his penis, nor any increase in hardness. Perhaps the screaming and swelling size were unrelated. 

As he continued to work his hand up and down on his penis, the asset considered what rating he would give to this stimulation. It would not be a negative rating because there was no discomfort or pain, but the asset wouldn't give it a positive rating either. It was a purely neutral activity. 

Would a neutral rating be enough to convince Steve that they could have sex together? The asset still wanted to make Steve happy and that would affect the rating. 

The asset considered what it would be like to perform this activity with Steve. He pictured that it was Steve's hand around his penis instead of his own, and the slightly swelling that had started earlier because immediately more pronounced. His penis became engorged and hard at the idea of Steve's involvement in this activity. 

He felt heat pooling in his lower torso and a sense of pressure behind his genitals. He had a sense of need, a need to move his hand faster, to keep touching. It was something like the need to obey orders, not so intense but a pressure that was hard to ignore. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight of the video and imagined Steve's face instead, imagined Steve's hand around his penis. 

To the asset's surprise, his mouth opened in a slight moan. 

Something tightened inside him and then his penis sent out a stream of semen. The asset's heart rate and breathing were increased as though from exercise and there was something like that pleasant sensation generated by exercise in the way his body now felt. His muscles felt looser, as though they had been stretched well. 

The asset considered. It would give this activity a four rating, but that was a rating for the activity without Steve's active involvement. The asset suspected that the rating would be higher if Steve were actually present and participating. He found he wanted to test this hypothesis.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some asset dating fluff... and a little bit of evil. I await your screams.

The asset was experiencing anxiety. He was anxious that he would act incorrectly or say something which was not appropriate. He was anxious that he might offend or upset Steve. He was anxious that something might go wrong that he had not prepared for. He was anxious that Steve might not arrive or might become unhappy over the course of the date. According to the internet, this was a normal occurrence and was called pre-date jitters. The asset was glad that the anxiety was within expected parameters but it was still not happy about experiencing it. He had arrived at the date location early so that he could scope the building and ensure that all his preparations were correct. He had now performed those tasks and was left with nothing to do except to wait and feel increasingly anxious.

He was now anxious that anxiety sweat would make his presence unpleasant to Steve.

The dance hall he was in also served as a restaurant. There was a wide walkway around the edge of the room for the tables, where diners could sit and look over a wooden fence to a dance floor and a stage. A live band was playing up-tempo music but no one much was dancing yet. A few couples were at the tables, either eating or reviewing the menu to make a food selection. A group of young women kept looking over at the asset and the empty seat across from him, giggling and whispering to themselves. Their giggling grated and made the anxiety worse because an irrational part of the asset was afraid that they were judging him, giggling at his failure to manage a simple date. Only the knowledge that it would upset Steve kept the asset from going over there and beating them into unconsciousness to keep them quiet.

Then the door opened and Steve walked in. The asset ceased caring about anything or anyone except Steve. His heart beat ridiculously fast, and somehow the fact that Steve was here made the anxiety worse instead of alleviating at least one of the concerns he'd had. Steve spoke quietly to the hostess before he noticed the asset, and then he hurried past her, walking over to the table with a smile on his face.

"Hey, Bucky," Steve said, sounding a little nervous. The fact that Steve apparently had pre-date jitters as well did help the asset's anxiety if only a very marginal amount.

The asset stood and thrust the bundle of flowers towards Steve's chest. The blooms were a little wilted now due to the asset's early arrival and now he felt that was a sign of his failure at dating already.

"For you," the asset said. His anxiety spiked again the longer it took for Steve to reach out towards the flowers.

"I can't believe you bought me flowers," Steve said.

"Was that incorrect? The internet suggested that flowers were a good way to impress on a date."

The asset had checked with Nat and Sam, who had both smiled but said that Steve would appreciate the flowers.

"Is that what this is?" Steve asked. "A date?"

"Yes. We are two people having dinner together and dancing. That is a date."

"Friends can do that sort of thing together. It doesn't have to be a date to spend time together."

The asset hadn't known to be anxious about this. He had been prepared to do badly at the date. He had not been prepared for Steve to not let it be a date at all.

"I have an answer for you," the asset said quietly.

"An answer? To what question?"

"You asked me why Bucky Barnes kept trying to make you dance with girls if he was in love with you. I experienced a memory that provided the answer. He was afraid. Bucky Barnes was afraid that if he went dancing with you, you would be arrested. He was afraid that if he went on a date with you to the sort of place where two men could dance together, the police would arrest you. He wanted you to dance with girls because that was safer, even if it made him sad to do it."

"That sounds like the old Bucky," Steve said, "always looking out for me."

"His primary protocol was the same as mine: keeping you safe. He would rather keep you safe than be happy."

Steve sniffed. He reached for the napkin and dabbed at his eyes. Alarm filled the asset at this development. He had intended to make Steve happy with this date but he had made him cry instead.

"I'm sorry," the asset said.

"No." Steve shook his head, still dabbing at his eyes. "No, don't be. Thank you for telling me, Buck."

"Nat told me that two men can dance together now without being arrested. We can date without being arrested."

"Are you doing this because you want to?" Steve asked. "Or because you think the old Bucky Barnes would have wanted to?"

"The old Bucky Barnes didn't want to," the asset said. "He chose not to go dancing with you. I'm choosing something he didn't because I want to dance with you." And because he wanted to make Steve happy and Steve had liked dancing with Bucky in the memory. He wasn't sure if Steve would be happy or upset by him choosing something that the old Bucky Barnes wouldn't have done but he hoped it would be the former, because he was showing independence, making decisions for himself, even if he had the ghost of Bucky Barnes whispering in the back of his mind.

"I'd like to dance with you too," Steve said.

"My date schedule had food before dancing, but we can change the order if you prefer."

Steve smiled through the dampness that lingered in his eyes. "I'm happy to do food first. I wouldn't want to mess up your schedule."

The asset picked up a menu and held it out. "Make your food selection."

He had already made his choice, using the menu that had been available on the website, to avoid the risk of being paralysed with the options while he was actually on the date. He couldn't choose for Steve though, partly because it was inappropriate for the asset to choose for a handler, but also because the internet said it was rude to pick on behalf of his date unless specifically asked to do so. He could provide additional information though.

"According to online reviews," he said, "the mac and cheese with broccoli and bacon is pure fucking heaven and the broccoli would provide necessary iron. Three separate reviews also praised the quality of the steaks."

"I'm not anaemic anymore, but thanks for the tip."

The asset wondered if this was the ghost of Bucky Barnes whispering without him even realising it, trying to make him assist Steve in making good eating choices.

When the waitress came to take their order, the asset nearly panicked that he hadn't prepared a drink choice, but he held himself together and said that he would just drink water, while Steve ordered a soda. They placed their food orders and the waitress headed off with a cheerful smile, after adding that she could find a vase for the flowers.

"What else does your schedule have in store for us?" Steve asked.

"Food followed by dancing," the asset said, "and then a walk through the park to a cafe which is open all night and serves specialist hot chocolates."

"Nice," Steve said. The asset felt some of his tension diminish that the plans met with approval.

"I'm not anticipating having sex tonight because several sites on the internet suggested that it would be slutty to have sex on a first date."

"Um… OK… Good. I guess?"

"But other internet sites suggested that the purpose of a date was to put the other person in a receptive mood for sex, and that lack of sex might be seen as rejection or failure, so I wish to make it clear that not having sex tonight in no way implies a lack of desire for future sex."

Steve had gone very pink while the asset was speaking and he wondered if he ought to check for an oncoming fever. Steve made a little noise that might have been a laugh or a cough, covering his mouth while he did so. He continued to make these noises and the asset wondered if this was a sign of an impending respiratory issue.

"Do you want to have sex with me?" Steve asked, once he had his breathing under control. He was still worryingly pink.

"I have watched educational videos on the internet and practiced self-stimulation and found the experience generally positive, with a significantly higher level of enjoyment when I pictured you rather than simply observed the videos. I would be interested in exploring whether your physical presence also increases the enjoyment factor."

"You masturbated thinking of me?"

"Yes. You are alarmingly red. If you require medical assistance, this date can be postponed."

Steve started laughing again. "No. Sorry. I shouldn't laugh at you. It's just that this isn't the sort of thing people normally talk about in public. I'm flattered that you've been thinking of me but maybe let's just stop with us agreeing that we won't be having sex tonight and leave it at that."

"If that's what you want," the asset agreed.

The waitress returned with water jug and the flowers, and Steve started asking about where the asset had acquired the flowers. He became less pink when they talked about other topics, like the asset's dancing sessions with Nat and his internet research to prepared for the date. The asset gave a brief summary of the research he had done and the sites he had reviewed.

"Wow that's… you really put a lot of thought into this."

"I want to make you happy," the asset said.

"As long as it makes you happy too," Steve said. "That's just as important. Does this make you happy?"

The anxiety hadn't and making Steve cry hadn't, but Steve had been laughing earlier and that was good, that meant that Steve was happy. Bucky was happy when Steve was happy.

"Yes."

Steve reached across the table and took his hand, smiling softly at him. "I'm glad."

They ate their food when it arrived and the asset was pleased that the reviews had not misled him. The asset asked Steve about his day, because the internet had advised him that it was polite to show an interest in the recent experiences of his date. The asset talked about how Sam and Nat had helped him with putting this together and Steve asked how he was feeling about these activities, whether he was in any way uncomfortable by being out in public. The asset admitted that he had scoped out the possible exit routes from the building before their date had begun.

"Hyper vigilance," Steve said. "That's what Sam called it. When you've been through traumatic experiences, it can be difficult to relax, you're always looking around you for the next threat."

"A prudent stance for the preservation of personal safety."

"But also exhausting. It's important to learn how to let go of that worry, to remember that you are safe now. It's not like Hydra are going to jump out of the shadows and attack us here."

"Perhaps not Hydra," the asset said. The young women who had been giggling at him earlier had kept throwing glances their way through the meal, their interest made worse by Steve's presence. One of them now stood, with encouragement from her friends, including a gentle shove, she approached the table where the asset sat with Steve.

"Excuse me. Are you… Are you Captain America?"

Steve gave her a smile that was bright and utterly false, a polite mask of cheerfulness that didn't give away any sign of irritation at having his date interrupted. "That I am, ma'am."

The woman giggled. "We were wondering, um… could we get a photo with you?"

"Of course."

Steve went over to their table and let them take photos on their phones, smiling throughout. The asset glowered in their direction and wondered what the internet would have to say about the etiquette of stabbing people for interrupting a date. He knew that Steve would disapprove, which was the main reason he remained seated at his table.

Steve signed a napkin for the women and then returned to the table, where the asset remained glaring at the other table.

"Sorry about that."

"We should dance," the asset said.

"OK."

"I will lead."

"Probably for the best."

There were more people on the dance floor now as the asset took Steve's hands and moved among them, trying to feel for the ghost of Bucky Barnes, trying to let his memory control his steps now. He felt Steve in his arms and his heart began to beat faster, disproportional to the level of exertion. Steve was smiling at him, a little bit of pink on his features again, and the asset found himself smiling back without really intending to.

He let his body move of its own accord and tried to ignore the fact that the young women were now taking photos of them as they danced. A lot of people were staring at them and the asset did his best not to observe himself being observed. Nat had told him that they would not be arrested for dancing. Steve was in no danger.

However awkward the asset was concerned about his actions being, Steve's were worse. He was hesitant, cautious with each step, as though afraid he might tread on someone. He didn't have the ease or confidence that Nat had showed with her body when she'd helped the asset practice. The asset wondered if Steve had danced at all since that moment he had remembered, if he'd ever danced in this new body that still felt too large. Steve was so confident in combat, so sure of all his movements, but he didn't bring any of that to the action of dancing.

When the asset attempted to spin Steve, he stumbled, tripping over his own feet and nearly crashing into the couple who danced nearby. The asset felt a rush of fear that his careful plans were failing, but Steve smiled, laughing a little at himself.

"Well that's going to be all over the internet before midnight," he said. He glanced to the edge of the dance floor, where the young women still had their phones out. One of them was clearly recording the dance.

But Steve seemed to relax more now that an initial failure had occurred. It seemed that something had loosened within him and he moved more freely under Bucky's guidance. They swayed and spun and stepped, bodies coming into synchronisation. His tension faded too and he smiled that he got to have this moment, that he got to have his Steve in his arms in this way. With each new song, he felt a delight inside him that he wasn't sure the source of. He wasn't sure if it came from the ghost of Bucky Barnes or from the person he was now. He wasn't sure how he could tell the difference. Did it really matter which part of him wanted to lean closer and press his lips to Steve's?

He didn't kiss Steve. He didn't want to risk something so personal when he knew that Steve was still worried about sex, and especially not with the people around them watching their every movement.

As the band brought the current song to a close and announced that they were taking a fifteen minute break, Bucky kept his hand in Steve's.

"Do you want to wait for them to come back?" he asked. "Or should we move on to the next stage of the date?"

The asset might have decided for them, since Steve was always pushing him to make more decisions, but he had already planned out this date. It was polite to let Steve have his say in at least some elements of it. It also didn't make him feel so uncomfortable about making decisions for his handler. Steve might not like being considered his handler, but the asset couldn't help that he still felt like he was.

"Let's go to your next stop," Steve said. "I'm intrigued by these special hot chocolates you promised me."

Steve retrieved the flowers while the asset settled the bill. He was supposed to pay because it was a date and he had invited Steve out, but the money came from Nat so he wasn't sure it counted. Steve didn't say anything about it, he just let Bucky pay with a little smile on his lips. Bucky held the door open for Steve and then took his hand as they started their walk out in the cool, night air.

"Are you having fun?" Steve asked him.

The asset considered. "Four."

"Only a four?" Steve made an expression of distress that Bucky was sure was faked.

"What is the etiquette around breaking the phones of people who interrupt a date to take selfies with you?"

Steve smiled a little again. "The etiquette is to ignore the impulse to do just that and to smile politely until they go away."

"Smashing their phones would be more satisfying."

"Probably."

There were plenty of people around them, walking on the sidewalks or driving past, but at least no one was asking for selfies or autographs. There was no one to interrupt as they walked hand-in-hand down the street. Bucky felt himself relaxing in satisfaction that he was allowed to be with Steve in this way.

A van slammed to a halt beside them in a screech of brakes. Before even the first horn of protest sounded, something struck the asset. Electricity coursed through his body, his muscles seizing, every part of him filling with pain. Beside him, Steve hit the ground, seizing and twitching under the effect of the same electric shocks, but that wasn't what filled the asset with panic.

What caused terror to flow through him like the electricity was the man who climbed out of the van, speaking calmly in Russian. "Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine."


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not completely evil however much I am fuelled by your screams. At least I didn't leave you dangling from that cliff for long. It's a short chapter but I figured you'd probably appreciate a quick update.

The speaker continued calmly, while the asset fought to get its muscles under control, wanting to cut off the sound of those words. There was something sticking to its chest, a circle with a lot of metal legs, like an evil insect, and those legs were sending jolts through its body at a rate strong enough to kill a normal person. It tried to make its hand move to the device, but its muscles were spasming uncontrollably. If it couldn't turn the device off, it wouldn't be able to stop the man speaking, or deal with the men with guns who had come out of the van. It wouldn't be able to protect Steve.

It wouldn't be able to protect Steve from itself.

Dread filled it as the thing that had hit its chest continued to set out debilitating shocks, making its muscles refuse to respond. It needed to stop the words, to stop what would happen next, but it couldn't reach the shocker or the speaking man. It couldn't shut off its ears to stop the sounds entering.

"Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car."

A layer of calmness washed over the asset. The world became simple. All that mattered was obedience. It stopped trying to fight against the shocks. It stopped doing anything. The asset wasn't allowed to do anything unless ordered.

The man who had been speaking came closer and reached out with the toe of his boot, prodding at the thing on the asset's chest. As the electricity cut off, its entire body ached with the after effects of the charge, but pain was irrelevant. Only obedience mattered. It was a weapon, ready to be fired at its target.

"Ready to comply," it said in Russian. Its handler smirked down at it.

"Bucky?" Steve said the name, his voice rough and full of pain. Steve was lying on the sidewalk, another of the round devices on his chest shooting electricity into his body, flowers scattered around him. He had landed on top of some of the pretty flowers the asset had acquired for their date. The asset was a weapon. A weapon didn't care about damaged flowers. But still a part of it assigned a rating to those crushed blooms. One.

Its new handler held out a gun which the asset took automatically, getting to its feet in a smooth motion so that it could claim the weapon, ready to use it however it was ordered to, against whatever target. Its eyes were still on Steve, writhing in pain on the ground. It wasn't right that he was in pain. It was unacceptable, but the asset didn't have the orders to change it.

Around him, the armed men who had come out of the van shifted, adjusting their grips on weapons, but the asset hadn't been ordered to do anything to them. It couldn't hurt them without orders. It couldn't do anything without orders. Even if they were aiming their weapons at Steve. Even if it knew it ought to be protecting Steve from those guns. It was already calculating which of them it would take down first, which looked like the most alert, the most competent, the biggest threat. It had its attack strategy prepared for how it would kill them for threatening Steve, but it couldn't act on it without orders.

"Shoot Captain America," its new handler ordered.

Orders were to be obeyed. Obedience was required, it was unquestioned, it was essential. The asset raised the gun. It needed to obey the order, even as the thought whispered in its mind that this was Steve. The primary protocol was to protect Steve.

It needed to shoot Steve. It needed to protect Steve. Nausea roiled in its gut as the two requirements came into conflict.

The asset aimed the gun. It fired.

The sound of the gun was loud, echoing off the building around them. Cars screeched and swerved. Someone screamed. Civilians were fleeing from the scene but the asset's attention was on Steve, still lying and twitching on the ground.

"Did you just miss?" the asset's handler asked. "You were supposed to be this amazing sniper. How did you miss from three feet away?"

"I didn't miss," the asset said. There was a line of red along Steve's right arm, a graze that had barely broken the skin and that his enhanced healing would deal with in a few hours.

"He's still alive!"

"A lethal shot was not specified."

The asset knew what would happen next. Its handler would inform it that a lethal shot was required. He would order it to kill Steve and the asset would have to obey. The asset couldn't fail to obey. Even in disobedience training with Steve, where it knew that disobedience would not lead to punishment, it had always obeyed. The best it had managed to do was delay by a minute or two. That would not be enough to save Steve. The order would not be overruled in those two minutes.

Unless…

"Kill him. Shoot him in the head and kill him. Now!"

The last word was delivered in a sharp tone when the asset did not instantly obey. The asset's muscles felt as they had when it had been fighting the electric shocks, the compulsion to move warring with its mind. It would pull the trigger. It had no choice but to pull the trigger. It had to obey its handler, but its handler didn't have to be that man.

"Say the words," it told Steve.

"What?" its handler asked. He seemed angry. Making its handler angry was unacceptable but what was happening to Steve was also unacceptable. The asset brought its foot forward, kicking at the thing on Steve's chest. The surface of the device was a button and the electric charges cut off instantly. The asset moved without orders, despite the nauseating rush of wrongness that filled it, knowing it didn't have long before the need to obey would be overwhelming. Already its hand twitched with the need to pull the trigger, so it brought its gun up and aimed towards one of the other men. It fired. Three more shots in quick succession and the other men were on the ground dead, bullet holes through their foreheads.

The asset's hand was shaking. One of the shots had been a little off-centre.

Pain burned through its right leg to the sound of another gunshot. Its new handler had shot it but it remained standing. Pain was irrelevant.

The asset couldn't shoot its handler. It couldn't kill its handler. It needed to kill its handler to protect Steve. It needed to kill Steve to obey its handler. The asset was left frozen in indeccision, apart of the shaking of its limbs.

Steve leapt past the asset, tackling the new handler into the ground, pummelling his head with bare fists. The urge to protect the handler was there. The urge to protect Steve fought against it, but the pressing need to obey the order was drowning out both of them. The asset raised its gun towards Steve, hand haking more violently as he fought not to pull the trigger.

"Say the words," the asset begged. It didn't know how much longer it could resist. The entire world seemed condensed down to the two of them and the gun in its hand. Its vision blurred and swam. Its head pounded.It wanted to throw up.

It needed to obey.

It needed to obey.

It was built to obey.

It would obey.

Steve started talking, the words coming out in mangled Russian, mispronounced but recognisable. "Longing. Rusted. Seventeen."

The asset was still shaking, holding itself from action by the knowledge that it only had to resist for a few seconds more.

"Fuck," Steve swore. "I don't know the rest." He said something that sounded like 'rusveet'. Not quite the right word but close. Close enough? It had to be close enough.

"Please," the asset said. Its vision was blurring again. There were tears in its eyes. It needed Steve to say the words. It needed to hear them. Its entire body ached, its head pounded but the pain was not the problem. The problem was that its muscles wanted to act without its mind. Its muscles wanted to shoot.

"Peach?" Steve said, the word not quite right. He had been able to plot Hydra facilities on a map based on a few seconds of seeing their position, but apparently his perfect recall didn't stretch to auditory inputs.

There was pain in the asset's left leg, not as much as the bullet wound in its right, barely noticeable over the agony building within it. It looked down anyway, seeing an arrow in the back of its calf, the tip barely piercing the skin. It barely had time to wonder why the arrow hadn't penetrated further when a figure leapt at it. A thin woman aimed her legs at its head, locking them around its neck, twisting with her entire body weight to pull it away from its target.

Its finger twitched on the trigger but the bullet smashed harmlessly into sidewalk.

Nat grabbed at its arm, twisting in a way designed to make it lose its grip on the gun. The move shouldn't have worked. The asset's strength should have been enough to throw Nat off and snap her in two, but its muscles were responding sluggishly. The gun hit the sidewalk, its empty hands less of a threat now. A sedative, it realised. The same sedative it had used to take Steve down.

Relief and gratitude surged through him as his body sank to the ground. As darkness overwhelmed his vision, the last thing he was aware of was Nat saying, "I told Sam we should have stalked your date."


	28. Chapter 28

The asset woke slowly, rising from the drugged darkness. It turned its head to survey its surroundings and saw Steve, saw its target. It leapt at Steve, the need to kill more powerful than any other impulse, the order too long put off, its disobedience like a pressure inside its skull, a sickness twisting inside its guts.

The asset slammed into a transparent barrier.

Only then, it recognised where it was. It was in its cell in the tower, imprisoned behind the plastic wall that was designed to hold a creature more powerful than even it was. On the other side of the barrier, Steve was sitting sideways on one of the fixed chairs so that he could watch the asset.

“I guess that answers the question of whether you’re going to try and kill me again,” Steve said, sounding surprisingly calm.

“I have to kill you,” the asset said. “I have been ordered to kill you.”

It could no more change the need to obey than it could change the need to obey the laws of gravity. It studied the plastic barrier. It hadn’t seen a way to get past the barrier in its previous times in this cell but it hadn’t had such a powerful need to try until now. Its previous times locked behind here, it had wanted to stay because this was where Steve had put it. Now it needed to get out, needed to get at Steve, but couldn't see a way to do so. It searched for that way out because it had to, but it didn't expect to find one. The fact that it couldn't obey its order though meant that the lack of obedience felt less pressure in its mind. It was trying to obey and that was enough to keep its head clear, to let it think and speak without the crushing wrongness overwhelming it.

“You don’t have to kill me,” Steve said.

“You’re my target.”

“I was your target before and you stopped.”

“I completed that mission. I was ordered to capture you and secure you in the chair. I succeeded. The mission was over, the order obeyed. There were no new orders until you became my handler.”

The asset attempted to pry open the plastic wall, but the mechanism that held it closed was too strong. The surface afforded no grip.

“I could become your handler again,” Steve said. “You chose to make me your handler before. You can make that choice again.”

“There is an active mission. There are orders to kill you. You cannot overrule those orders unless you say the words.”

The asset lined up a punch with its metal arm, moving its entire body to throw all of its strength and weight into the impact. The wall reverberated with such force that it seemed to vibrate through the floor as well, but the wall remained intact. The asset couldn’t reach Steve. It couldn’t complete its mission.

It was glad.

“I don’t remember the words,” Steve said. “I only heard them once, while I was being electrocuted. I remember the ones Tony showed me before, but not the later ones.”

The asset surveyed the sleeping area of its cell, looking for something it could use as a weapon against itself. If it hurt itself, there was a high probability that Steve would open the door in order to assist it and then it could kill him, but there was nothing except the mattress. The asset punched through the soft padding of the mattress, hoping to find springs or something useful, but the mattress was made of a thick foam. There were no hard parts it could use to injure itself.

“I remember the words,” the asset said. “I could tell you them and you can repeat them.”

“If you know the words, you could say them to yourself,” Steve said. “You could become your own handler.”

“It doesn’t work like that. The words only work if someone else says them to me. You have to do it. You have to become my handler properly. Then I won't be able to kill you.”

"I don't want to have that much control over you. I want you to be able to be free, not have to obey everything I say."

The asset didn't say that it preferred obeying Steve to thinking for itself. Thinking for itself was difficult and exhausting. Saying that would upset Steve though, so it thought of other things to say that would make Steve do what was necessary to keep him alive.

"The date was my choice. Dancing was my choice. I might have had to obey you, but you let me choose things. This is what I want. It's the only way to override the mission."

“Alright. If that’s the only way.”

The asset hesitated. If it gave the words to Steve, that was alright because it wanted Steve to have them. It wanted Steve to know them. But it didn’t want anyone else to know them. It thought it had saved itself by destroying the red book, but that other man had known the words. Too many people knew already and the asset knew it was being observed. If it gave the words to Steve, others would hear, others would be able to use them against it.

It remembered the dancing lessons with Nat and the precautions that she had taken when the asset wanted to keep things secret from Steve.

“Jarvis,” the asset said, “privacy mode. Don’t watch this. Don’t record it. Don’t let anyone else see.”

“I’m afraid your authority to request privacy mode has been temporarily rescinded due to current circumstances,” Jarvis announced.

“Please. Just five minutes.”

“I cannot comply,” Jarvis said.

But Steve spoke up, “Jarvis, do it. Privacy mode for the next five minutes.”

“Privacy mode enabled.”

“There,” Steve said. “No one’s recording this. No one’s watching.”

A part of the asset wondered if it could use this against Steve, use this to complete its mission, but there was no way to get through the barrier. The only way Steve would open this door was if the asset no longer needed to kill him.

The asset spoke the first word, slowly and with careful enunciation, letting Steve copy every syllable. They proceeded through the rest of the sequence and with every word uttered, the asset felt something unclench inside it, inside him. When Steve uttered the final one in the sequence, the asset felt the drive to kill him vanish into nothing.

He sagged. Tension vanished. He sank down onto the mattress, tears streaming down his cheeks at the thought of what he had almost done, what they had almost made him do. He hated Hydra, hated that handler. He hoped that Steve had punched him in the head so hard that his brains exploded on the sidewalk. If not, the asset might find him and do it himself, to keep him from ever uttering those event words again.

The asset sobbed, more from relief than sorrow, but the sorrow was there as an undercurrent to his emotions. He was dangerous, he knew that. He was a weapon and always would be but they had tried to turn him against Steve. There was no doubt that they would try again.

“Bucky?” Steve asked.

The asset nodded, not quite looking up. He wiped a hand across his eyes, but there was little point to the gesture because the tears kept flowing.

“Thank you,” he said. “I can’t kill you now.”

“Oh, Bucky. Jarvis, open this door.” Nothing happened. “Damn it. Privacy mode. I really need to hug you right now.”

The asset shook his head. “No. You should get rid of me. Send me away somewhere they can’t make me hurt you.”

“Not going to happen. Don’t even think about it. It’s me and you until the end, you hear me?”

“They’ll try again. I thought I’d destroyed the words but they still had them. He might have written them down. He might have given them to someone else. They’ll try again and next time I might kill you.”

“No. You won’t. You fought them this time and you can fight them again, and if you need me to say those words to you again, I will do. Again and again, as many times as you need.”

The asset knew that might not be an option. Steve had won this time because his friends had been able to knock the asset out long enough to bring him here. Without this wall between them, the asset would have attacked Steve again and he never would have had a chance to say the trigger words. On the street, the asset had come terrifyingly close to pulling the trigger. If the stunner device had kept working, Steve wouldn’t have been able to say anything. If Nat hadn’t shown up when she had, the asset would have killed him.

Steve’s promise wasn’t good enough.

The only other option was to make sure that Hydra never got near him again.

“How did they even find us?” he asked.

“Twitter, we think. Those girls you really didn’t like uploaded a video of me attempting to dance. It turns out a lot of the internet was interested in Captain America on a date with a guy. Someone from Hydra must have noticed it trending and worked out from the time and location stamps where we were, realised that we’d be away from the rest of the Avengers.”

“Apart from Nat.”

“Luckily for us, Clint is addicted to social media. He realised how easy it would be for someone to work out where we were and so he and Nat were already on their way when the police calls started coming in about the gunfight. Apparently Nat had planned on stalking us on our date but Sam talked her out of it, so I don’t think she’s talking to him right now.”

The asset knew that if Steve didn’t intend to let him go, then they would not be able to go out on a date like that again. They would need to have someone with them, someone following them for their own protection. Even that was risky. It would be safer for everyone if the asset never left this tower again.

“Privacy mode ended,” Jarvis announced.

“Open this door,” Steve said, before Jarvis had even finished. He squeezed through the gap while it was still opening and crouched in front of Bucky, wrapping his arms around him. Bucky leaned into the hug, clinging desperately to Steve, still shaking with sobs. He felt Steve’s warmth around him, the strength of his arms, and reminded himself that Steve was still alive. Hydra hadn’t taken him from him yet.

He just needed to find some way to be sure that they never would, some way that didn’t involve shutting himself in this tower for the rest of time because he already knew the Steve would be opposed to that idea.

“You’re safe,” Steve said. “It’s OK. I’ve got you.”

Bucky wanted to believe him, he really did, but he knew that things weren’t so simple. He was a weapon, designed to kill, programmed to obey. Right now, he was Steve’s weapon, but all it would take was ten simple words and that would be undone. He couldn’t allow that.

He needed a plan.

Running away seemed like a sensible plan, the best option for keeping Steve safe, but he knew that Steve would come running after him. Besides, that would upset him and he couldn’t upset Steve. The asset couldn’t upset its handler and the ghost of Bucky Barnes couldn’t upset Steve. Both parts of him needed Steve to be happy and that meant finding some way to ensure his safety while still doing the things Steve wanted, learning to be an independent person.

He just wasn’t sure how to do that yet.

He would have to think about that problem but he didn’t need to have a solution instantly. Right now, his mission was to stop Steve from being upset. Steve was sobbing into his shoulder and that was unacceptable. Steve crying was not allowable so he had to do something to make Steve smile again.

“We didn’t get our fancy hot chocolate,” he said. “I want to make us hot chocolate.”

“OK,” Steve said, finally letting go of the hug and smiling a little damply. “Let’s do that. Let’s make hot chocolate.”

While he was at it, the asset would order more flowers to make up for the ones that had been dropped when Hydra attacked. He wasn’t going to let Hydra completely ruin their date and that meant Steve had to have flowers. He wondered if he could convince the florist to make an arrangement spelling ‘fuck Hydra’ in roses because he thought that would make Steve smile. Keeping Steve smiling was only marginally less important than keeping Steve safe. Bucky would work on the one while he tried to come up with a plan for the other.


	29. Chapter 29

The asset made a lot of cookies. He made cookies for Steve to apologise for almost killing him, even though Steve said he didn't need to apolgoise because it was Hydra's fault. He made cookies for Nat and Clint to thank them for stopping him from hurting Steve. Clint took his batch of cookies with a slightly sheepish smile, "So no hard feelings for shooting you?"

"Acquire more of that drug and keep it on you at all times."

"Will do."

He made cookies with white chocolate and cranberries for Tony because he knew that Tony liked dried fruit. He went to the lab with three boxes of cookies carefully balanced. He wasn't allowed into the lab without Tony's authorisation so he waited at the door while Jarvis announced his presence.

""What are these for?" Tony asked, looking at the cookie boxes. "Do you need something? Do you need me to look at your arm because I am happy to accept cookies for looking at your arm. I would accept granola for looking at your arm."

"I don't require you to look at my arm."

Tony looked very upset at that. "Than what are all the cookies for?"

“You are aware of what happened when I went on the date with Steve?” the asset framed it like a question but it was more of a statement. Of course Tony would be aware of what had happened. Jarvis was his creation so if nothing else, it would have informed him about the privacy mode while Steve did the reset.

“Yeah, I heard about that. Tough break.”

That was a significant understatement. He wasn’t sure anyone on the planet would consider being brainwashed into nearly killing the person who mattered most to him in the world a ‘tough break’.

“Hydra tried to control me but Steve said the trigger words and now I respond to him again,” the asset said. “I need to have a way for him to always be able to say the words, in case he’s incapacitated or not physically present.”

Tony considered this. “You’re not talking about just having a transmitter so he can reset you by remote, are you?”

“No. During the fight, while he was being electrocuted, he wouldn’t have been able to say the words even if he knew them.”

“So you need a recording of Steve saying the words? So that if someone tries to trigger you, you can trigger yourself right back.”

“Precisely.”

“OK. We can definitely work on something like that, but all this might be unnecessary.”

“Hydra will try to control me again,” the asset said.

“Yeah, probably, but I’ve been doing a lot of reading on neuroscience recently. Now, biology, especially neurobiology, isn’t really my area of expertise but one of the big things everyone in the field agrees on is that the brain is ridiculously adaptive. There are stories of people getting damage to parts of the brain and then the brain basically rewires itself around the damaged spot, and that’s without talking supersoldier serum healing. The brain rewires itself all the time. There was a big study on cab drivers in London, showing that their brains were different after they learned all the street maps. Every time you learn a knew skill or gain new knowledge, your neurons are basically shifting their connections, forming new patterns.”

“I fail to see what this has to do with the trigger words.”

“Everything. According to your Hydra files, they had to keep conditioning you. Every now and then, you would stop being their perfect puppet soldier and they would have to condition you all over again to reinforce the triggers and stuff. They had to keep putting the codes in your head because over time they stop working on their own. And that was while you were their prisoner and not exactly being exposed to a world of new experiences. The more you learn, the more new things you experience, the more you force your brain to adapt, and so the quicker all this stuff is likely to break down. You can even do stuff with cognitive behaviour treatment to try and force yourself to think in new ways and that will shift the patterns even more. Every time you learn to bake cookies or play video games or do something else that you couldn’t do pre-Hydra, you make it more likely that the next time someone tries to trigger you, the pattern will be too disrupted to hold.”

The asset could barely breathe. What Tony was talking about was true freedom, not being bound to Hydra or anyone, not being at risk of being dragged back into that nightmare.

"How long will it take?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. Longer established patterns are harder to break and each repetition reinforces it, makes it fresh again. Unfortunately, you can’t just decide to forget something, because thinking about forgetting it basically reinforces the memories. Trauma doesn’t help. Memories linked to strong emotions are more vivid, more likely to linger. So it could take a while. But I don’t think we have to wait for you to forget the words for them to stop having their full effect. Just practicing disobeying Steve is helping you set new patterns that will make it easier to resist next time.”

There were too many uncertainties, too many hesitations in Tony’s words. The asset didn’t know whether Hydra would come to reclaim him again next week or next year. He had been with Steve for weeks now and still nearly killed him. He couldn’t rely on natural break down of the brainwashing processes. He could choose not to hear the words again, not to let Steve say them to him, and work on the things Steve wanted him to practice about being an independent person, but he still wanted something else, something to guarantee safety.

"I want the recording anyway," the asset said.

"Alright. Belt and braces guy. I get it."

They discussed the asset's desired goal for a little while and Tony made some suggestions when the asset was concerned about being able to trigger the recording in the middle of an attack. It was Tony who suggested having an audio receiver in his creation that would activate the recording when it picked up the trigger words.

“This way, we don’t even have to worry about you being able to activate it,” he said, seeming very smug about his cleverness. “As soon as anyone starts to say the sequence within your hearing range, the device activates automatically and plays you Steve’s recording to overrule them. It doesn’t matter if you’re tied up and gagged and unable to press any buttons because it will do it on its own.”

“Yes,” the asset said. He liked that idea, liked the safety of it. Even if Steve was unconscious and the asset incapacitated, he would hear Steve’s voice through a speaker in his ear and would remain Steve’s.

Tony had been working at one of his machines while they’d been speaking, bringing up a three-dimensional model of a potential device, with a miniaturised microphone and speaker embedded in something small enough to fit into the asset’s ear, along with a power source and a control chip.

“How can you make it so small?” the asset asked, looking at the virtual model. It looked so small that he could put it into his ear and no one would be able to even see that it was there.

“3D printing at the molecular level. When You create something by hand, all the pieces have to be big enough to see and manipulate. The size is limited by human eyesight and dexterity, but when you build it by machines, each piece can be microscopic. With each iteration, I can build machines that have the precision to build even smaller machines. This is nothing. I have plans for nanotechnology that will completely revolutionise my Iron Man suit, weaponry, medicine, everything. Imagine machines small enough that you can put them in your blood stream and they’ll go around hunting cancer cells.”

“Really?”

“The anti-cancer bots are still a work in progress, but I’ll figure it out. I’ve got them small enough, the rest is just a matter of programming. Your problem is much simpler. I just need to program your ear piece with basic voice recognition trained on those specific words. What’s the sequence?”

"No," said the asset.

"What do you mean no?"

"I can't let anyone else know the trigger words."

“Come on,” said Tony. “I’m trying to help you here.”

But the asset shook his head. Every person who knew the trigger words was a potential threat. It was safer for everyone if no one knew.

“How am I supposed to help you if you don’t let me?” Tony asked. “You agreed this was a good plan.”

“I can’t tell you the words. I can’t let Jarvis record them.”

“What if I promise never to tell a soul?”

The asset didn’t trust promises. Promises could be broken when people were broken. Bucky was sure he had promised never to hurt Steve and yet he’d nearly killed him more than once, shot him and dragged him off to be Hydra’s prisoner.

Tony made a frustrated noise and said, “Fine. How about this? I’ve already heard the first three words, right? We don’t need the whole sequence, because whoever Hydra send will start with those three. We can use those to trigger the playback of the recording. Would that be alright?”

The asset considered. He nodded. He’d heard those first three words and hadn’t fallen into Hydra’s control. As long as no one had the other seven, there was minimal risk. So the asset repeated them for Tony and Tony programmed them into his little machine, calling on protocols for speech recognition so that different people with different accents and varying levels of proficiency in the Russian language would all still cause it to react.

The asset watched him work, seeing the way he tapped away at lines of code that would be recording in microscopic electronics and he was glad that Tony was on their side. He was glad that Tony was willing to help him even after what the asset had done to his family.

“Thank you,” Bucky said.

Tony was startled by the words. He looked away from his code for a moment.

“Huh? Oh. Right.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I like solving problems. No big deal.”

But Bucky hadn’t just meant for this little machine, he’d meant all of it. He’d meant the cell in the tower were he could be locked when he was a threat to Steve, the gym with its wonderful climbing frame, the dried fruit he’d offered to try and trick Bucky’s brain into cooperating.

Bucky wondered what he could do adequately express his gratitude and suspected that there was nothing that would ever be adequate.

“Nearly there,” Tony said. “What we need now is the Capsicle. Jarvis, tell Cap to come join us.”

“Right away, sir.”

“I’ll get everything set up so that Cap can start and stop the recording himself and tell Jarvis to cut surveillance for a few minutes. Then we leave the room and leave him to it. I’ll put the recording file into the earworm without listening to it and without Jarvis saving it anywhere else.”

The asset wasn’t sure why he needed to leave the room too, but he suspected it had something to do with what Tony had said about trying to make the patterns degrade. Listening to Steve say the words would reinforce them again. He had a more pressing question though.

“Earworm?”

“Not my best name, I’ll admit, but I’ll think of something better later. It’s like when you get a song stuck in your head and can’t shift it, that’s an earworm. And since this thing is going in your ear with words you can’t get out of your head.” Tony looked a little too smug for Bucky to believe he would ever call this little machine anything else now.

Tony got on with setting the machines up to record Steve’s words and soon enough Steve was walking into the lab.

“If this is about the press conference, I already told Pepper that I don’t think Bucky’s…” Steve stopped talking as he caught sight of the asset. He looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Hi, Bucky. I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“You don’t think I’m what?” the asset asked.

Steve shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, not quite meeting the asset’s gaze.

“Well, there’s been a lot of media interest since our date. People have been asking about the dance footage and there were a lot of witnesses to the fight. A metal arm’s not exactly inconspicuous so we had to release an official Avengers statement about you giving people some of the basics, but the press are desperate for more. Pepper’s arranging a press conference and, well, everyone wants to talk to you but I wasn’t sure you were ready.”

Steve was acting like he’d done something wrong and the asset wondered about that. It seemed perfectly reasonable that Steve would have to admit to the public about the asset’s existence if he went out in public and the asset wasn’t sure how he would handle a press conference. He wasn’t sure how much it would be safe to say or not say, but he suspected that acknowledging all his past killings would go down about as well as it had when Tony had learned the asset had killed his parents. People would think he was an enemy. Or he would admit that he was compelled to do everything Steve told him and people would interrupt that badly, making the mistake of believing that Steve was in the wrong regards to him.

The asset wasn’t sure whether it would be better to be seen as an evil villain or as Steve’s victim. Neither were appealing.

So he nodded.

“You were correct. I’m not ready for a press conference.”

Steve looked relieved. He finally seemed to notice Tony and the glowing plans for the earworm hanging in the air.

“What’s all this about?”

Tony gave a quick summary of what he was building and what they needed Steve to do. He explained, in a manner that was thoroughly patronising, what buttons Steve needed to press to start and end the recording of the trigger words.

“This was a great idea, Tony,” Steve said. “Thanks.”

“It’s all Buckeroo’s idea,” Tony answered, “and he’s paying me in cookies.”

The asset wasn't sure that was entirely true. He might have come to Tony with a rough idea, but it was Tony who had managed to make it work, and who had designed this tiny machine that would hold Bucky's lifeline inside miniaturised circuitry inside his ear. Tony deserved to take the credit for this clever design so why was he shying away from it now? Always when he’d spoken before, he’d been proud of his genius, bragging of his achievements. Bucky felt that this was yet another gift, refusing to take even the slightest trace of credit for Bucky taking this step towards freedom by his own choice.

Bucky saw the look of soft joy on Steve’s face and felt another rush of gratitude towards Tony because it made Steve happy that the asset was coming up with ideas of his own.


	30. Chapter 30

"Now that you're not going to go all murder bot on us," Tony said, as he showed the asset how to use the organic glue to seal the earworm into place so that it would be almost invisible in the ear canal and impossible to remove until the glue naturally dissolved in about five days, "we can probably give Bruce his panic room back."

He held up a camera so that the asset could look into his own ear on the screen in front of him, checking that the device was secure. Tony had initially been talking about the asset putting it in only when they went outside, but the asset didn't want to take any chances. It was possible that Steve might want to leave the tower on impulse and the asset couldn't risk this device being forgotten. He'd asked about a way to make the earworm permanent and the glue had been an acceptable compromise. The glue would break down over a few days until he would be able to wash it away, or he could touch up the glue each day to keep it in place as part of his normal, morning routine.

If it became clear that the earworm was no longer necessary, the asset could stop wearing it, but for now, he was comforted to know that it was there, ready to speak out in Steve's voice should anyone try to take control of him.

The asset considered Tony's comment. The cell the asset was using had been created to hold the Hulk, and it was possible it might be needed for that purpose again. Steve and Tony and the others knew that the asset wasn't going to kill them now that he had the earworm to prevent Hydra taking him over, so there was no need for him to be kept in a cell that could be so effectively sealed. He could stay somewhere with a kitchen and furniture that wasn't fixed to the floor.

"I will stay with Steve," the asset announced.

"Have you talked to Steve about that?" Tony asked,

"We are boyfriends now. Boyfriends live together."

"Boyfriend is a serious term for some people. Have you talked about that either?"

"We've been on a date," the asset said. "I bought him flowers. The internet says that's something boyfriends do."

"Yes, sometimes," Tony said, "but some people go on dates as a casual thing and it doesn't come with serious terms or moving in together. I'm not trying to pick a fight," he added when he saw the asset's expression, "I just think you need to talk it over with him. Make sure you're both on the same page."

So the asset went to Steve's apartment in the tower. Steve had been sitting on the couch, sketching a bowl of fruit, but he stood up quickly when the asset walked in.

"Is there anything wrong?" he asked.

The asset, because Steve liked it when he made decisions for himself, said, "We are boyfriends now. I will be moving in here."

Then, when Steve said, "Um… OK?" Bucky gave a nod and went to get his clothes from the cell so that he could bring them up to what was now their shared apartment.

Steve gave him a drawer in the main bedroom to put his stuff in while eyeing the large bed nervously.

"Are you alright with sleeping here?" he asked.

"Yes," the asset said, and then he added something that the ghost of Bucky Barnes whispered in the back of his mind. "It's bigger than that bed we shared the winter of 38."

Steve gave a surprised laugh. "You remember that?"

There was a memory of something cold sliding between his legs, of squealing and protests and Steve laughing until he wheezed.

"Your feet were like ice and you insisted on shoving them between my calves to warm them up."

"You always gave this squeal so high pitched I was surprised anyone but dogs could hear you and then you'd threaten to kick me out of bed."

Bucky had threatened every night, even as he wrapped his arms around Steve to pull him closer, to warm him up. Bucky would have fought Mother Nature herself to keep Steve safe and warm.

"I won't kick you out of bed," he promised now.

"You won't have to. My circulation problems have been fixed so my feet and hands don't get so cold anymore. Besides, this place actually has insulation."

"Good," the asset said, but there was a part of him that felt sad about it for some reason, as though it were a shame that there was one less thing that Bucky needed to protect Steve from.

"Seriously though," Steve said, "if you want to have your own bed, we can sort something out. There's plenty of space here and I'm sure Tony wouldn't mind. This situation is still a bit odd."

"Because I tried to kill you?"

"Because you still have to do everything I say."

"There are people who like being told what to do by their romantic and sexual partner," the asset told him. "I have been doing research on the internet. There are communities of people who do everything their partner tells them to and they enjoy it and they have written blogs and articles about how it's safe and healthy and consensual and people shouldn't judge them for it."

Steve gave another little laugh. "I still can't believe Tony thought it was a good idea to give you unrestricted access to the internet."

"I can give you the link to a blog post about why it's OK that I have to do everything you say as long as I'm happy about it."

"Maybe some other time." Steve seemed uncomfortable about the topic, so the asset moved on to some of the other research he had done.

"There are also websites where you can buy gags so if you're worried about giving me orders I don't like during sex and forcing me to do things I don't want, you could order one and wear it when we have sex."

Steve's cheeks were going slightly pink again, making Bucky feel an urge to check him for fever.

"You've put a lot of thought into this," Steve said.

"When I try different foods or activities, no one knows if I will like them until I try them out. You're worried I won't like sex but I won't know until I experience it. There was nothing objectionable about the physical sensations of self-stimulation so I fail to see why there should be anything objectionable about performing the stimulation with you."

"It's not necessarily about the physical. There's the emotional side of things too and I think it's too soon for that. You're still figuring out how to be an independent person. I don't want to take advantage of you."

"It's not taking advantage if I want you to."

"You might think that now, but you might think differently a few months or years from now."

All of these arguments were about Bucky's potential regrets. Steve didn't seem to believe that he would regret sex except that it might cause Bucky distress.

"Things are getting very serious very quickly," Steve continued. "I don't want to move too fast. I don't want you to feel committed to anything later because of decisions you make now. You've decided you want to be boyfriends, but you haven't actually dated around. If you want to have a relationship with someone else down the road, I don't want to stand in your way."

The asset didn't believe that was likely to be an issue. Bucky Barnes had chosen to stay with Steve no matter what and the asset would do the same. He was his handler, but more importantly, he was his Captain, and his Steve. It would take brain washing and mind wipes to make Bucky choose anyone else over Steve.

The asset knew that it was possible that Steve would choose someone else over him, find someone who was better suited to being a romantic partner than a brainwashed former assassin that was still figuring out the new rules of his existence, but Steve had never said he wasn't interested. He wouldn't have been worried about taking advantage unless this was something he wanted for himself. All his arguments were about the asset potentially regretting it. If Steve had said that he didn't want to have sex with the asset because he didn't think he would like it, then the asset would leave the subject alone, but Steve never had, leaving the asset to reach the conclusion that Steve was as interested in this as he was.

"Look," Steve continued, "if we don't have sex now, we can always have sex later. But if we have sex now, we can't go back and undo it later. I think it's better to wait. In six months or so we can have this conversation again, when you've spent more time practicing disobeying me and making your own decisions."

The internet sites he'd wanted to show Steve said it was important to respect when another person said no, for whatever reason. Just because the asset wanted to have sex with Steve and he thought Steve wanted to have sex with him, it didn't mean he could do anything. Not when Steve said not now. Besides, Steve was right about the asset needing to obey him. If the order was to wait then the asset would have to wait, whether he wanted to or not.

"Six months," the asset said, and gave a nod.

The conversation over and the matter decided, the asset went to find his tablet. There were many things available to order over the internet and Tony had set Bucky up with an account through Jarvis. He placed his order and on the very next day everything arrived and Bucky carefully pulled apart the calendars, taping the relevant months up in a prominent position on the wall of the apartment he now shared with Steve. He marked one date clearly in red ink _SEX WITH STEVE_ and crossed out the days which were already in the past.

When Steve and Sam came in later following their morning run, Sam was already out of breath even before he saw the display of calendars and started laughing so much Bucky was worried he might pass out.

"When I said we should wait," Steve said, "I wasn't expecting you to set a countdown."

"You said we could have sex in six months," the asset said. "I wanted to be certain you wouldn't forget the date at which you would allow it."

Sam helped himself to some water and stopped sounding the way Steve used to in the middle of an asthma attack.

"Good job on expressing individualism and personal desires," he told the asset.

Steve looked personally affronted. "You agreed with me that we were better off waiting."

"Oh, I did, I still think waiting is the sensible and emotionally healthy choice. That doesn't stop me also recognising how much progress he's made. A month ago, Bucky couldn't eat or take a shower unless you ordered him to. Now he's leaving passive aggressive countdowns on the wall to express a disagreement with your opinion? That's progress. That's the actions of someone thinking independently." Sam gave Bucky a thumbs up. "Good work. Keep it up. But I do agree with Steve about sex being a big step you should probably wait for."

It was true that the asset probably wouldn't have been able to think these thoughts a few weeks ago. The asset's programming was clear on this: the handler was to be obeyed without question. The handler's instructions were automatically right. By this logic, Steve’s opinion about the need to wait for sex should be treated as a fact of the universe, as reliable as gravity or that a bullet placed directly through the brain in the correct trajectory would cause death. The fact that the asset could even consider disagreeing with Steve was unacceptable, and should have sent the asset into a spiral of panic, and yet somehow it didn’t.

The asset wasn’t sure why it felt comfortable taping the calendars to the wall. Perhaps because he wasn’t specifically saying that Steve was wrong. He wasn’t actually arguing or disagreeing or trying to disobey the instruction to wait for six months. By highlighting the waiting period, he was obeying the order. This was something that he found acceptable.

And if Steve changed his mind and changed the order, then that would be acceptable too.

He knew now that Steve wouldn’t punish him. He might still be bound to obey Steve as his handler but instructions could often leave room for interpretation and Steve was careful about not giving too many direct orders. He gave suggestions and asked questions, giving the asset as much freedom as he could. That gave the asset a great deal of flexibility. While a part of him found that flexibility terrifying, opening up the infinite array of possible choices that might send him crawling back into the corner to shut out the world again, another part of him listened to the whispering voice of Bucky Barnes inside his head, suggesting that he research what Sam meant by passive aggressive.

He had the earworm to protect him from Hydra so that no one could ever take him away from Steve. Steve was his handler now no matter what, and it was time to test the boundaries of what that meant.

It was time to figure out who he was if he wasn't the asset and he wasn't Bucky Barnes. He had six months before the date Steve had set and he was determined that when the time came, he wouldn't leave Steve with any doubts that he was ready.


	31. Epilogue

The world was still a terrifying place with an infinite number of possible choices for every moment of existence that left the asset unable to calculate what was the best thing to do at any point in time. Rather than shutting himself in his bedroom closet to hide from the world, Bucky found that he could handle the choices more easily if he had a schedule to follow. When he had set activities to perform at specific times, it brought the choices down to a more manageable level.

Each morning, he shared breakfast with Steve and then he went to the gym for an hour and a half. He showered and had a mid-morning snack, and then the schedule varied depending on what day of the week it was. On some days, he baked for the Avengers and he often cooked meals to share with Steve.

Sam and Tony both agreed that it was important for Bucky to learn new skills and knowledge to help his mind break free of whatever remaining programming Hydra had left in it, so he spent a lot of time watching cooking videos, learning new techniques, and experimenting with flavour combinations. Some experiments were more successful than others. Clint considered him a genius for the pizza cookies; everyone else had thought they were disgusting.

He also signed up for an online course on introductory psychology, hoping to better understand the state of his brain. By the end of it, he wasn’t certain that he was any better than he had been before at understanding the impulses he followed and the rules he still felt bound to, but he found the subject interesting and was already signed up to two more courses at Tony’s expense.

He practiced disobedience with Steve three times a week. Sometimes this involved delaying obeying an order, sometimes it involved creatively interpreting an instruction in ways that technically were following the order but in ways not intended. It was strangely enjoyable to work out ways around even the most basic of instructions. Stealing a robot from Tony’s lab and getting it to pick up a pen was still technically picking up a pen even if he never touched the pen himself.

Bucky remembered grazing Steve with the bullet when ordered to shoot him and knew that this sort of interpretive obedience could mean the difference between life and death.

As days and weeks passed without receiving punishment with his behaviour, it was easier to relax and have fun with these games instead of just finding them exercises in frustration that led to headaches and nausea. It seemed the others found the exercises amusing too and often found excuses to come and watch. When Steve had ordered Bucky to fetch him a glass of water and Bucky had returned with a glass of ice cubes, Sam had laughed and called him a walking meme. Bucky wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Practicing interactions with other people was less fun, but Sam insisted that social integration was important and that he couldn’t just talk to the Avengers all the time. So Bucky went on expeditions outside the tower on his own, performing simple tasks like buying groceries or eating a meal in a diner. On each of these excursions, he made certain that the earworm was in place and had Jarvis only a panic button away, but there was no sign of Hydra.

There was no sign of Hydra when he went out for scheduled date nights with Steve either. They were often stopped by fans who wanted selfies and autographs, which still irritated Bucky into glares, but Steve always warned these people not to upload anything until later. When he told them that the bad guys had used footage of him on a date before to try and kill him, his fans usually agreed, and so Hydra hadn’t interrupted any more dates.

Bucky went out for meals with Steve, or went to the movies, or walked through the park together. They did get their fancy hot chocolates. On one occasion, Tony bought them tickets to a musical about the founding fathers and seemed to think this was an achievement worthy of a prize. Bucky enjoyed the musical, but he preferred the one about the witches from The Wizard of Oz because about half-way through he had a sudden flash of memory of sneaking into a movie theatre with Steve to watch the original movie and Steve being initially upset because he'd thought the movie was going to be in colour but it started in black and white.

They went out ice skating and Bucky learned that Steve’s enhancements did not give him the ability to balance with two blades stuck to the bottom of his boots. Steve was not amused by Bucky's offer to kiss his ass better the third time he landed on it, but his lack of ability did give Bucky an excellent excuse to hold his hand though, because it turned out that this was a skill he had. Whether it came from the asset or Bucky Barnes, he wasn’t sure, and at this point it was starting to feel that there was less of a distinction.

There were regular activities with the other Avengers, like movie night and games night. Contrary to Bucky's previous believes, it turned out that Clint did possess superpowers. It was impossible for anyone to have achieved that level of proficiency with Mario Kart by a natural means.

There were some activities which didn’t fall into the regular schedule, but Bucky found he could cope with them if he was given enough advanced notice to adjust. Sometimes there were missions to go on and Bucky would slip back into being the asset. The world became simpler then and his focus was on achieving the mission objectives and keeping Steve safe despite his alarming tendency to throw himself into danger without thinking. Bucky was good at being the asset, good at fighting and better at keeping Steve safe. The universe seemed a lot less complex in those times but he couldn't say he liked the missions because Steve always frowned at him when he was being too much like the asset and not enough like Bucky Barnes. Plus, he couldn't like anything that might result in Steve getting shot.

Other disruptions to the schedule were actually quite fun, like marching in a parade with a pink and purple flag tied around his neck like a cape and watching Steve give a speech about respect and love and the need to understand and accept each other despite differences. Steve had bought the flag for Bucky because he used to go dancing with women and now he went dancing with Steve, but Bucky wasn't sure if the flag was the right one for him as he was now. As the person he was now, he was only interested in Steve. He had a conversation with a woman carrying a grey, white and purple glad that had a black triangle on it and they discussed labels and identities, giving Bucky a lot more internet research to do when he got home.

There were a lot of people giving out free condoms at the parade, so Bucky made sure to grab a handful and left them on the bedside table where Steve couldn’t help but see them. Bucky suspected that neither of them had a reason to be concerned about sexually transmitted diseases thanks to the serum, but they might find the condoms useful anyway.

Even if there was still a month and a half left until Steve’s deadline.

When there was a month to go until the deadline, Nat bought Bucky new workout clothes, even though there was nothing wrong with the clothes he had previously been wearing in the gym. When Bucky asked why she thought he needed new clothes, she gave him an evil smile.

“Because Clint and I have a little bet going on regarding your countdown with Steve, and I intend to win it.”

The new workout clothes were considerably tighter than the ones Bucky had previously been wearing. The first time he wore to them to the gym with Steve, he surreptitiously watched Steve’s reflection in the mirrors. Steve was much less surreptitious about how frequently he looked at Bucky’s ass.

Bucky knew exactly what Nat was trying to do and decided to run with it.

He took to wandering around the apartment shirtless and it was definitely having an effect. The time Steve walked into the kitchen while Bucky was cooking pancakes naked except for an apron, he’d actually whimpered.

He started doing research for their impending sex, which included ordering different varieties of lube from the internet and then testing them out with unnecessarily loud masturbation sessions to figure out which one worked best. When that didn’t work, he asked Steve his opinion of the different lubes, pretending at complete sincerity.

He started planning a schedule for the event with as much thought as Pepper had put into planning the Stark Industries Christmas party, down to preparing a menu. If that involved feeding Steve supposed aphrodisiacs for a week while he tested out various recipes, well that couldn’t be helped.

When Steve walked into the apartment a few days before the deadline and saw Bucky laying out oysters and champagne, he groaned and declared, "You are a menace."

“I simply want to ensure that our first sexual experience together is a successful one,” Bucky said. He was currently shirtless, using the excuse of having spilled sauce on his t-shirt earlier. He dropped a fork and bent to pick it up, turning his ass towards Steve. He was wearing the particularly tight pair of jeans that Nat had purchased for him and which hindered his mobility thanks to their constriction, which meant that the overly long time it took for him to bend down and retrieve the fork was not entirely feigned.

“Are you trying to make me explode from sexual frustration?” Steve asked.

“If it helps,” Bucky said, “technically today is the six month anniversary of our first date.”

Steve stared at him for forty seven seconds before he said, “Fuck it,” and launched himself across the kitchen at Bucky.

It was a good job that Steve didn’t have asthma anymore because that kiss would have destroyed his lungs. Steve’s hands were all over Bucky and he was kissing him like he was trying to devour him from the inside out. He didn’t even break the kiss to get undressed, just ripped the shirt off with a tearing of fabric. Bucky might have laughed if he wasn’t too occupied with the feelings of want growing steadily inside him, especially as Steve shoved Bucky up against the kitchen counter and pouring a month’s worth of frustrated need through the gesture.

Bucky wasn’t going to let all his plans go to waste, so he led Steve through into the bedroom, still kissing and shedding clothes as they went.

They didn’t bother with condoms, but Bucky did grab the warming lube he’d selected through his various experiments. He lifted Steve up and dumped him onto the bed.

“How do you want to do this?” Steve asked. Because of course he would be worried about Bucky having autonomy even at a time like this.

“The first time, I want you inside me,” Bucky answered.

“But just the first time?”

“There are too many possible combinations to stick to the same one every time. Don’t worry. I have a list.”

“Of course you do,” Steve said, with a little laugh, before he grabbed Bucky round the back of the head and pulled him in for another kiss.

It turned out that for all Steve’s good intentions about never giving Bucky orders, he did give orders in bed. They were orders like ‘harder’ and ‘more’ and ‘just like that’ and Bucky found himself happy to obey.

Later, when they found themselves lying on the bed, sweaty and panting, having discovered that even supersoldiers had limits on how many times in a row they could go, Steve muttered, “Why did I make us wait so long?”

“I’ve been wondering that for six months,” Bucky said.

“So you liked it?” Steve asked.

Bucky pretended to consider, then he said, “Six.”

They hadn’t used the rating scale for a while, and bringing it back in now made Steve laugh, which was what Bucky wanted. That was still part of his primary protocol: making Steve happy.

"Give me time for a quick nap," Steve said, "and we'll see about making it a seven."

Bucky kissed Steve on the cheek and said, "Ready to comply."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's condition in this story is the sort of thing that could take a lifetime of healing and still never be complete. Rather than write the story until the end of time (although I'm sure some people would enjoy that) I decided to wrap it up with the happy ending of, well, a happy ending. :) 
> 
> They've got Bucky safe from Hydra and they're working on fixing his head while they have things in place to keep him from being recaptured so I figured the plot was essentially done. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing from the asset's perspective in this and a part of me thinks it would be fun to come play in this world again, but the other part of me is aware of the hundred other fic ideas I have pestering to get written, so I won't make any promises about sequels. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it and thank you to everyone who's commented to say nice things about the story. Comments are love and they are always appreciated. :)
> 
> For whatever random fandom stuff has caught my interest this week, come [follow me on Tumblr](http://jessicameats.tumblr.com). For more about my writing, [check out my blog](http://plot-twister.co.uk).


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